Return To Innocence
by Hilda2Helga
Summary: A story of life told through the eyes of your not so typical high school boy. Of course I mean Arnold, everyone's favorite do-gooder with the cornflower hair...
1. Default Chapter

There's nothing more beautiful than watching the sunset… late on a cool, breezy, day. Watching the wind sweep the clouds in all different directions. Watching as it, then, twists them into familiar, rather comical, shapes. Seeing the sky transition from a vibrant orange color, to a red, then a violet, then finally watching as evening falls with a cool blue. All at once you can feel the most sincerest honesty… the most uninhibited joyous feeling. How wonderful the feeling is to know that you're merely just a spec in this world we live in… to know that no matter what problems you may face, they're nothing compared to the grand scale of things. There are no words to describe it. The innocence, honesty, and beauty contained in those moments is indescribable. Beautiful. 

Simply beautiful.

I guess you could say I was always the goodie-goodie kid; the kid with morals; the kid that always did the right thing... yep, that's me... see I never understood why I became one of the "popular" guys. I'm not anything special, I'm not a football player, I'm not "Mr. Suave", I'm just not your typical popular guy. I pride myself in the fact that I DON'T have to be like those other guys. The guys picking on "nerds" like Brainy, taking advantage of girls like Ronda who, although is one of the most popular girls in school, can't see through to the fact that, 'hey, this guy's only dating you so he can make a good reputation for himself.' Nope, I'm just not like that. I would NEVER be like that, I vowed… on more than one occasion… I'm just me, good old Arnold. 

High school is nothing I expected it to be. I feared that people would be more mature than I. That somehow I'd be over shadowed by all the people coming and going from the school. In reality, it seems that the only thing to change is people's insecurities. HA! There is no maturity here. People changed, not for the better, but for no other reason than to save face. I never understood it, I still don't. I don't feel that I have to pretend to be someone else to cover for my own lack of confidence. I won't lie, I don't consider myself the "poster boy" for confidence, but I'm not totally insecure. I'm average. Well, I won't go as far as to compare myself to others seeing as thought I'm Mr. Goodie-goodie himself, but still… I don't feel any different than anyone else. Like I said, I'm just Arnold. But, there's one way I feel different…

Love.

This word doesn't seem to have the same meaning to me as everyone else. I'm the only person I know who's doomed to live their life parentless… to never know what happened to them… and so be forced to live with the "unconventional" family to say the least. No one else I know has a pet pig, or lives with a crazy grandma who insists on making you green tea and calling you "Tex" or "Kimba". But I love her all the same… I love my whole "family". But being deprived of parental love can do a number on you. When you're a kid, it's different. You know you're not the same as the other children who have a mother and/or a father, but you don't _really_ understand why. It's when you grow up and finally understand the severity of the matter that you actually realize it, and boy, does it hit you like a ton of bricks. Hmm… it's more like someone tore your heart to shreds then put it back together and forgot to put some pieces back. The holes in my heart will never close or heal, I've come to that conclusion, but I've decided that the more I grow up the less appropriate it is for me to sulk around about it. I can handle myself.

Devotion.

That's another word I'm not too familiar with. Devotion… the kind in a relationship? Maybe. I'm not too familiar with relationships, though, either. I've "dated" girls, but I don't seem to ever find the right one. I'm a sucker for crushes, so I guess it's only my fault for falling for the wrong girl. Thank God my naiveté hasn't yet gotten me into a long term relationship with one of those "wrong girls", but I can't take the credit for that. Helga's always been there to "show me the light." I can never be too grateful to her for that. 

Helga G. Pataki.

Helga and I have never been great friends, but she's never been my enemy. We haven't always gotten along, but she's there when I need her. She's funny like that. One minute she can be telling me how much she hates me, then the next she's standing next to me with her hand on my shoulder. She's a wonderfully ironic person, and I can only hope she stays that way forever. She will, I know it. The only bad thing about her is… well, not so much about her, but.. Gerald doesn't really like her.

Gerald Johansson.

My best friend since preschool. He and I have been inseparable since we were three, and something tells me that that's not about to change any time soon. He's the best friend a person can have, but he's a little on the ignorant side. He's never given Helga a chance. Maybe I'm just trying to see something that's not there, but I always believed that she was good person inside. As much as I don't want to admit this, Gerald embodies the stereotype of the typical high school popular jock. He dates girls left and right. He never "uses" them, but he drops them sometimes like yesterday's garbage. He has a soft spot for one girl, though. I don't think he'll ever find anyone quite like her. Phoebe. 

Phoebe Hyerdahl.

She's a great friend, but insists on playing the "side kick" to Helga and her domineering ways. Not that she seems to mind it, though. I find that quite interesting in itself. Why would someone as smart as Phoebe want to follow Helga around? The answer is simple, she cares about her, that's why. I find it a sweet ode to friendship on some level, although I don't condone Helga's method of taking advantage of her.

That's enough introductions, don't you think?

Things aren't always what they seem, and sometimes the things you least expect can happen when you least expect them to. It's clichéd I know, but it's so true, one must repeat it. Love's like that too. You can never rush love. You can never expect when you fall in love. You can't even begin to expect who you fall in love _with_. It frustrates people, yes… but that's the beauty of love. You can't expect to know anything about it, which makes it all the more mysterious and wonderful. Love. Yeah, love…

Spoken by a true hopeless romantic.

And so, after all explanations are said and done, my story begins…

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Wow, this started off a little slow, but it'll be longer in the next chapter AND be more interesting. I'm just one of those people who has to explain things before she starts them. Eh, must be the perfectionist in me, hehe :D


	2. A Paradox Wrapped In An Enigma

Heh, I sort of forgot to put the disclaimer on the first part. So, here it is…

I DO NOT OWN HEY ARNOLD!!! DON'T SUE ME!!! (I don't have any money anyway so you wouldn't get much out of it if you did) 

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Return To Innocence

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Sky blue.

My favorite color, hands down. The color of my little blue hat. Also, the only thing I really have to remember my parents by. Although I've outgrown the hat given to me as an infant, I still wear it. I wouldn't be Arnold if I didn't. it's part of my personality, you could say. As laughable as it must be to you, imaging me, a 14 year old boy walking around with a tiny baseball hat on, it's not to me. I know it's immature, but I just can't bare to part with it. Being a freshman in high school has put a little pressure on me to "ditch" the little blue hat I've grown to love and adore, but I triumph over peer pressure… and I'm proud because of that.

Peer pressure.

Ugh, that ugly subject. There is nothing more degrading to someone's image than following the crowd. Being like everyone else. Being _cool_. HA! Have you ever heard something so ludicrous? It's always been my experience that the people who "follow the crowd" are the people just trying to get recognized, to fit in. Of course, that's obvious, but… I see it as lowing your standards to someone else's and thereby making yourself look gullible, naïve, and just plain… stupid. It looks poorly on their values, and I can't, for the life of me, understand why someone would _intentionally_ want to look that way. It's being a "poser", and I look down on that. It's fake. Case in point, Ronda.

Ronda Wellington Lloyd.

…She's one of the poorest examples of individuality I have EVER seen in my young life. She follows what ever magazines like "Vogue" tell her to. She thinks that material is all that matters, when in fact, it is the one thing that NEVER matters… at least to me. I, for instance, don't feel I need to prove anything by buying the latest trendy clothes or adopting a new personality just so people will see what I am… because when you act like that, all you are is a chump. A trendy, no-mind-of-your-own, chump. 

I can be harsh, but it's only how I feel…

Feelings.

Emotions.

A silent tribute to the heart. THESE are the things that matter….

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"Hey Arnold, hey Arnold, hey Arnold, he-" I sleepily turn off my alarm clock. Lazy mornings have somehow taken over my life since entering teen-hood. I'm not sure when it happened, but somewhere in turning 13 I acquired the need for an extra 3 hours of sleep… that I never get. 

I roll over in bed and bury my face into my pillow. I know I have to get up, but in all honesty I could care less about going to first period in my sleep-deprived state. Every morning there is always the internal battle of whether I should stay in bed, call in sick, and sleep the day away, or suck it up, get up, and go face the new school day. But then, always then, I'd realize that it would be an ill-conceived decision on my part to stay home. Curse my responsibility! Staying home and missing classes would also get me on the bad side of my teachers.

Like Mr. Miller, my English teacher… who might be related to Hitler, but I'm not sure. No, not literally, but he DOES seem to have an evilness to him. Then again, English teachers _always_ seem to have an evilness to them. 

There's something I just don't like about the man. That's odd, seeing as though I never fail to like all my teachers. No matter what they do, no matter what anyone else has to say about them, I always see the good in them. It's probably a fault of mine. 

I see that they're simply people trying to educate the youth of America. 

The same youth that hates them by instinct. 

There's a knock at my door, but I already know who it is. "Hey, short man, it's 7, you awake yet?" Grandpa asks, as is the ritual. I always mumble a reply I KNOW he can't understand, but he chuckles anyway and says, "Ok, see ya' downstairs for breakfast, then."

Grandpa. What would I do without him? He's like the father I've never had, or at least, can't remember. He IS my father on some level and I couldn't ask for a better substitute to the real thing. He and Grandma bring something to my life that I don't understand now, but I will when I get older… when I don't have them around anymore…

Let's hope that doesn't happen for a while.

Ah, but I must get up now; I must face the morning with squinted, sleep-deprived eyes, and get started with the usual morning rituals… the sleepy brushing of the teeth… the half awake, half asleep shower… 

After completely redressing, and cleaning up my image for the new day, I never fail to miss breakfast and be forced to eat only a piece of grandma's burnt toast on my way to the bus stop…

Assuming I'm not late for the bus.

"Great," today is a day I miss the bus. No biggie, all that means is a little trip down the block. I've always been thankful that I live relatively close to the schools I attend. On the other hand, how far away can you really get from the school when living in such a compact city as this? Ah, well today I get the privilege of walking to school on a rainy morning. Puddles in the street. A cold crisp feeling in the air. 

Depressing.

Cloudy.

Yet, none the less beautiful. It's hard to tell if I ever _really_ look at the bad side to anything, but that's just how I am... I love the rain. The way it feels as it trickles from the sky and hits you like small, soft, reminders that you're really alive. Not really a full-fledged rain, but merely a sprinkle here and there. Beautiful. I can't help but smile.

The city can be so dirty, though, it's terrible. The puddles of water on the street are no longer pure anymore… they're mixed with oil and dirt and trash left by the compulsive littering people we humans are. I step in a few and cringe. It's disgusting. 

The dim light from the sky paints a false picture of evening, almost, over the city. It gives everything an ominous feel to them. 

But…

Even the dingy walls of the old buildings and crud on the sidewalk can't take away from the breath-taking sight of light breaking through the endless sea of clouds. Beautiful.

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"Hey football face, that you?" I hear, calling out in the distance. Ah, Helga. The first person I see everyday, and the last person I think about before I sleep. She's what you would call "a paradox wrapped in an enigma" I'd say. She never ceases to amaze me every day… although she can be annoying at times, but that's just being honest.

"Yeah, it's me… I see you're late again. I'm guessing you missed the bus too?" I stop on the slick sidewalk and wait for her to catch up to me. She's tired, and her eyes seem to give the same sleep-deprived message as my own. She takes her time walking up to me and puts her hands in her jean pockets. Helga, the eternal tom-boy. She no longer wears the childish pink dress of her youth, but a baggy t-shirt and jeans. This too, makes me smile.

"No, I just like taking strolls on crappy, rainy, cloudy, cold, mornings," she says, heatedly. She glares at me through insincere eyes. She places her hands on her hips and waits for me to reply to her sarcastic remark… she just stands there, hair wet, clothes in disarray, and raises an eyebrow.

"Ok, I'll take that as a yes."

"You can take that as a hell yes." she says as we begin walking again. "God, and it had to be today, right? I mean, Miss Fletcher's gonna have a cow… see, we have this project to present and… oh, you do realize that since we're walking we're going to be at least 10 minutes late for school, right?" she asks, sarcastically trying to 'clear things up' for me.

"Yeah, but it's not that bad. I've been late before and all I get is a tardy. It's not the end of the world," I say, with a smile.

After a pause she frowns and asks, "Are you mocking me?"

"Certainly not," I reply, light-heartedly. She mumbles something under her breath and folds her arms across her chest. I can only imagine what is going through her mind… the insults that are on the tip of her tongue. I laugh inwardly, I can already tell what she's going to say.

"Just shut up and walk, football head." 

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Hehe, there's chapter 2. Hmm, it's kind of hard to start a story this way, but I assure you it will make more sense as I go along… I hope you're enjoying it so far.


	3. Sadness

I DO NOT OWN HEY ARNOLD!!! DON'T SUE ME!!! (I don't have any money anyway so you wouldn't get much out of it if you did) 

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Return To Innocence

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"I'll see ya' around, football face," Helga says, slightly waving a goodbye. She walks a little ways down the hall and stops in front of her locker. She turns the lock combination without success and angrily slams her fist on her innocent locker door. She grits her teeth and tries again, this time popping the lock open with ease. She smiles smugly and begins digging for her books through the ill-maintained locker, dropping wrinkled pieces of paper in the process. Although I'll be late to class, I stand and watch her as she does this. I like that she's unaware of my curious eyes as she goes about her normal routine. I smile once then turn and head for my first period class.

Mr. Rieker. 

A good man, but a senile one. He must be in his eighties, at least. His hair sometimes resembles Einstein's, the way it's untamed and sticks out every which way. His hair is also almost a bleached white yet he insists on wearing a dark brown toupee to cover the terribly large bald spot atop his head. He sometimes forgets where he is, or falls sleep in class, or even once he was convinced he was the 3rd president of the united states, reincarnated. He went around all day complaining about how he was once the great man who co-wrote the Declaration of Independence yet he can't get paid a decent salary. 

I get the feeling that he and Grandma would get along very well. 

I guess that's what being a History teacher all your life will do to you.

There's another side to him, though. He has more knowledge than ANY text book I'VE seen. He's extremely driven and can teach you something even if you don't realize it at the time. He fought in WWII, or so he says, so I wouldn't be surprised if he learned or saw, rather, a thing or two out in the "field" that the history books don't even know. 

I walk into the classroom and everything falls into a hushed silence. Eyes all on me. I blush as I hurry to find my seat in the middle of the room. Mr. Rieker, sitting at his desk quietly, looks up at me over the top of his reading glasses. He smiles his old yellow-toothed smile, then stands up and walks to the middle of the classroom. He removes his glasses before he begins, "You should thank your lucky stars, son, that I hadn't turned in the attendance sheet." 

"I-I know," I stutter and blush.

"Well, aren't you gonna sit down, boy?!" he says joyfully, his huge gut giggling as he moves with enthusiasm.

I take my seat and watch as he prepares for the day's lesson.

Lunchtime.

I couldn't wait for lunchtime to arrive, and now that it's here I've suddenly lost my appetite. I can't explain it, but it happens on occasion. I walk into the lunchroom and see the sea of people, all either scurrying to their table or to a lunch line. The cafeteria has a run-down appearance to it. The walls look dingy and worn out. The whole room has a tiredness to it. 

Through the crowds I could still see one person of importance. Gerald. He sat at a table, a mysterious girl by his side, with an empty seat beside him. Good old Gerald, always thinking of me. I smile. 

"Hey, man, I want you to meet Roxanne." Gerald says as I approach. He promptly stands up from his seat to introduce the girl. She holds out her hand and we shake, a polite was of saying 'pleased to meet you' without words. 

"So you're Arnold, huh," she starts, twisting her raven hair around her index finger. She smiles and winks. Right off the bat she strikes me as annoying and unpleasant. The way she wears too much make up; the way she presents herself as, excuse my vulgarity, quite easy; the way she continues to chew on her piece of gum like a horse. I smile to be polite, but I'm secretly wishing she were miles away from me. Don't get me wrong, she is quite beautiful. Ah, there's that word again, but see, this time not everything is beautiful. SHE is not _beautiful_. Her attitude and personality scream follower, brat… and… complete and total unoriginality.

"Yeah, I'm Arnold," I force a smile, and slowly sit down in my chair.

"Gerald and I are going to the mall after school, wanna come?" she asks before blowing a bubble and popping it obnoxiously. She taps her long, manicured nails on the table's surface, causing an annoying and intolerable 'tap tap tap' that makes my skin crawl. She smiles again, knowing nothing of the disliking thoughts of her I harbor in my head at the moment. 

Suddenly I feel someone plop down into the seat next to me. "Hey, football head, do me a favor." says Helga, before I even have a chance acknowledge her existence.

"Hmm, what?" I shake my confusion away with a simple double blink.

"You have to do something for me," she states, leaning in the chair.

"I do?" I question.

"Hey, we're having a conversation here," Roxanne says, furrowing her brow. 

"Psft, ask me if I care," Helga simply says, paying no more attention to her as Roxanne mumbles something under her breath. That was awesome. No other girl would dare shrug off someone like Roxanne. Most others would be so intimidated by her social status that they would bend over backwards to please her. Not Helga, though. Helga's too stubborn and opinionated to abide by ANYONE other than herself. 

THAT is beautiful… on some level. 

"ANYWAY," Helga starts again, glaring at Roxanne for a minute, maybe hoping for another interruption just so she had a reason to bring 'old Betsy' into it, "see, I have this project to do with that guy, Charlie, you know that always sits alone at lunch and won't talk to anyone?" she asks, pointing rudely at the guy. Indeed he IS sitting alone. 

He sits, picking at the food on his plate, looking as if he is in deep thought; he doesn't look sad; he doesn't look lonely; he just looks ask if he's pondering something. Using his plastic cafeteria fork, he picks up pieces of the seemingly inedible 'food' and lets it plop back down on his plate, unmoved.

"What do you need me for?" I frown, not getting the validity of her point or where she is going with this.

"Well, he… creeps… me out." she says, eyeing him strangely, "Could you please go over there and talk to him for me and tell me if he's really ask crazy as people say he is?" she pleads. See, here is where the 'friendship' part in our 'relationship' comes in. She just comes out of nowhere and asks me for a favor, one, I might add, I'd rather not do. Then again, doing this little 'favor' would give me a reason to get away from Roxanne and Gerald's miss-placed affection for her.

"Are you absolutely sure you want me to do this?" I ask, in one last effort to dissuade her from making me to it.

"Look, chick, he doesn't wanna go. How about you leave now and go back to wherever you came from, hmm?" Roxanne gives a fake smile and tilts her head.

"Right, like I'm gonna listen to you!" Helga bursts out laughing and waves her hand dismissively, "You're too funny."

"I wasn't being funny!" Roxanne says, frustrated.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Helga replies sarcastically, then gives her a look.

"Uh… yeah, I'll do you that favor." I cut in, feeling the tension in the air rising. Helga and Roxanne continue to glare at one another. I exchange a look with Gerald then stand up from my seat and grab onto Helga's shoulders, breaking her from her staring game. I motion for her to follow me, then we leave the table. 

"That was… interesting." I comment, stifling a laugh.

"Shut it, hair boy." she says with a smile.

We exchange our own kind of 'knowing look' then we go back to our usual manor.

"Look that's him, talk to him Arnoldo," she says, slightly panicked, grabbing onto my shirt sleeve to stop me, "I'll be waiting here," Helga says quickly as she sits down at a table near Charlie's.

"Uh, o-ok." I look nervously at my destination. He somehow reminds me of Arnie. Maybe it's the bland, boring, message I get from him as he's still sitting there, playing with his disgusting cafeteria food.

"GO ALREADY!" I hear Helga whisper hoarsely, demanding me to go forth.

I gulp and take a few steps forward to the table and, not before taking one last deep breath, sit quietly down in the chair across from him. He still sits there, unaware of my presence before him. He looks down at his food as if he's looking straight through it; he seems as if his mind has completely left his body. I clear my voice in hopes that I'll get his attention… without success. 

After what seems like forever he drops his fork, letting make a disgusting 'plop' noise as it does so. He then, as if following a line, looks from his food to the table then to me. I smile awkwardly, feeling as if 'now that I've got his attention, I'm not sure I want it anymore'. 

"H-hi I-I'm Arnold." I say, my voice climbing octaves as I speak. I hear Helga laughing in the distance. He's still completely unmoved and continues to stare at me. 

So uncomfortable.

So awkward.

I want to run away right at that very second and back out of this 'favor' I'm doing.

"What do you want?" he finally speaks, looking down at his food again.

"My uh fri-" my voice climbs octaves again just as if I were going through puberty, so I clear my voice, "my friend wanted my to talk to you. She says she's doing a project with you and sh-she doesn't know you too well so I offered to talk to you." I smile awkwardly again.

"I see."

"S-so, you new here?" I scratch nervously at the back of my head.

"No."

"Oh," I look around the cafeteria for something, ANYTHING, to start a conversation between us.

"Can you go now, I'd like to be alone." he says, rather rudely.

"Hey, I just wanted to talk to you," I reply defensively.

"Well you did. Now you're done. Please, just go." he looks to his left then down to his food again, picking up the plastic fork. He was deliberately trying not to make eye contact, I decide, and I suddenly feel troubled. He proceeds to pick at his food, mindlessly, again. I frown.

"Ok, bye," I get up from the table and walk quickly back to Helga. She looks expectantly at me as I stand before her.

"So?"

"He's not crazy."

"You sure?" she looks skeptically at me and folds her arms.

"Pretty sure. He's just kind of, well, mean."

"Oh, hell, I can live with mean, it's CRAZY I have trouble with." she looks over to Charlie again. I watch as a few emotions play across her face. She first looks wearily at the boy; then she looks confused; then she looks skeptical once more. she shrugs, then looks back at me. "I owe ya' one." she says with a smirk.

"Don't mention it," I shrug it off. I look at her for a few seconds more then walk back over to my table, feeling disturbed by my 'conversation' with Charlie. What could make someone act that unsociable? 

Even if he didn't _look_ it, there seemed to me a sadness about him. I look back at his table and see he's pushed his plate away and is now simply sitting there, staring off into space. I feel sympathy towards him, but after our talk I feel it's better to leave him be.

Poor Charlie. 

There's something wrong with that kid…

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Tah-dah! Chapter three! I hope that thing about the spaces I put in the reviews helped clear things up for a few people. Maybe I was coming off as a little angry, but I wasn't. I just want my readers to understand where I'm coming from. I hope you're enjoying my story, and I promise you'll understand where I'm going with it soon. Review, too, I wanna know what you think about it :D


	4. Inception

I DO NOT OWN HEY ARNOLD!!! DON'T SUE ME!!! (I don't have any money anyway so you wouldn't get much out of it if you did) 

****

Return To Innocence

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"And so ends another day at Hillwood High," says Gerald with an exasperated sigh. The two of us exit through the main building out to the front of the school, just as we always do after school. He talks to me about how his day was and, as sadistic as this may sound, I'm not always interested in the day to day experiences of my long time best friend. But, he talks on anyway, oblivious to my feelings on the subject, as I'd never dream of telling him.

"Guess you ought to be getting together with Roxanne, now, right? I mean, she said you two were going to the mall and all." I say, partially not even aware that I'd spoken. I'm too interested in what's going on around me. I see the masses of high school kids talking and laughing amongst themselves as if I'm watching it all in slow motion. People running around like they're playing a spirited game of tag. 

For a moment I forget where I am. Suddenly, in my mind, I'm back on the playground at P.S. 118. 

"You sure you don't want to come, man?" Gerald asks, breaking me from my pleasant "relived" childhood. He looks questionably at me, wondering why I look so distant. 

"Definitely." I nod. I'm not, nor ever will be, in the mood to spend the evening with someone such as Roxanne. Suddenly, I realize something. Why? For what reason would I dislike her? I don't know her. I never gave her a chance, because as you know, I hated her from the second I saw her. 

I made a judgment…

…a judgment that stuck with me. 

No matter what she had said; no matter how intelligent she may have been; I wouldn't have liked her. Simple as that.

"You don't like her, do you?" Gerald asks, laughingly. 

"You're not disappointed?"

"No way, you got your own opinions, I can deal."

I smirk. At least it's out in the open.

"You know, it's weird, though. I mean, I'm not used to you forming bad opinions about people."

"Why is that?"

"Because… it's so unlike you. Mr. 'lets give everyone a fair chance'. It seems wrong, kinda."

I frown. Am I offended? Am I angry that he thinks I'm not capable of disliking someone? …that I'm not capable of hate? 

Should I be?

Is it right?

"I see." I look away from him.

"Oh, come on, man! You know I don't mean that the way it sounds." he pats me on the back, and laughs at his own comment.

"Yeah…" I say, lightening up a little. He, after all, didn't mean to 'insult' me. He wouldn't do that. 

"Catch ya' later!" he says as he sees Roxanne off the distance, waving at him. Maybe I'm jealous. A-ha! That's it! I'm jealous. That would be the only way to explain my unjustifiable hatred of Roxanne. 

Jealousy can't be good, though, right?

A better question… why would I be jealous? 

"Oh, hi Arnold," I hear from behind me. It's an angelic sort of voice that I know only belongs to one person. Lila. "I'm ever so happy to see you." she smiles a beautiful, pearly white, smile. She bows her head slightly and looks up at me. She hasn't changed much since we were kids, I decide. She's still tall, and everything she wears has an innocent child-like look to it that I can't explain. It's as if everything she touches turns pure. She's the type of woman I envision marrying one day. The type of girl that embodies every standard of feminine beauty. Ah, beautiful.

"Really? Why would you want to see me?" I turn around and take a few steps back to her. She blushes slightly, which only reaffirms my belief that she and innocence go hand-in-hand. I like that.

"No reason. How was your day? I hope it was just ever so wonderful, like mine." she walks to me and the two of us turn to walk forward.

"It was ok. I spoke to Charlie."

"He's not that sad boy that's always alone, is he?"

"How'd you know?"

"Oh, Arnold, everyone knows about Charlie Reiker. He creeps me out, personally. How he's always looking down. Like he doesn't want to look you in the eye, you know?"

"Reiker? As in the History teacher?"

"I'm not sure, but it is quite the coincidence," she giggles, which sends my heart a-flutter. Just as Roxanne had done earlier today, she twirls a piece of her brunette hair around her index finger. This doesn't annoy me, though, which both surprises me and troubles me at the same time. Why did Roxanne's doing the same thing prompt me to hold it against her in a way, and Lila's doing it make my heart 'melt'? 

"Yeah, it sure is. Does anyone know anything about him?" she furrows her brow in thought and raise a hand to cup her chin.

"I'm ever so sure that no one's knows a thing about him, I'm sorry," she looks disappointed. 

"It's ok, I-"

"Hey, hair boy!" ugh, and so from the beautiful ,angelic, voice of Lila, we go to the loud, overbearing, voice of Helga G. Pataki. I seem to resent her a little for interrupting my time with Lila.

"Yeah, Helga?" I ask with a sigh of annoyance. I turn to face her with an exasperated expression. She stands there, arms folded, just as if she were ready to beat the living daylights out of someone. It was an intimidation move, which I think maybe she is so used to that she doesn't realize the meaning behind it.

"I need to talk to you, pronto!" she orders. I frown.

"Why, haven't I already done you enough favors today?" I ask, quite boldly. I feel bad, that sounded a little rude, mean even. Ah, here's the 'confrontational' part in our 'relationship'. We can so easily get on one another's nerves… something that hasn't changed, it seems, since preschool.

"Apparently not. Come on, I gotta talk to you." she glares at me, trying to stare me down. I look at Lila, who I see, quite humorously, looking like a deer caught in headlights. Perhaps she's scared for her life, I muse, almost laughing out loud. 

"M-maybe you should just go, Arnold, she looks pretty mad." Lila informs, taking a step away from me. Scared, perhaps, that if she stands too close to me she might get caught up in the 'cross fire'. 

"No. Why should I be ordered around by HER?" I ask, turning to fully face my oppressor; my bully; my kill-joy. Lila whispers a small goodbye, then almost runs away from the situation. I never understood why Helga hated Lila the way she did. I thought once that maybe she resented Lila for resembling her sister, Olga, a little too much. The way she always called Lila 'little miss perfect'; the way she hated her sister for being so 'perfect'. It makes a lot of sense if you think about it. Then again, I could be wrong.

"Just shut up, and get over here!" she says, frustrated.

I sigh and walk the few steps to her. She stares at me as though I've done something terrible to her. "What?"

She disregards what I say and leads me over to a secluded place by the wall of the school. The scenery has changed, now. No longer can I see the groups of people talking and having a good time. Instead, all I can see are old, dried up, shrubs placed around the walls of the high school. They're ugly and brown yet no one seems to think they need to be taken down. Ugh, I cringe looking at the dusty, unclean, state of the wall. The wall that, although is now a beige color, used to be as pearly white as Lila's perfectly set teeth. 

Maybe the bushes haven't been cleared away because now they seem to match the dirty walls. 

That ugly dead-brown color… 

…yuck… 

"Look, you know that little chat with Charles Manson you had today at lunch?" she asks sarcastically, leaning up against the dingy wall.

"You mean, Charlie? Yeah, what about it?"

"What about it?! You obviously had a little 'bonding experience' with the little weirdo, you tell me!" she shouts, throwing her hands up in the air.

"Um, what?" I raise an eyebrow.

"He says he wants YOU to work on the project with us! Can you believe that!? YOU of all people! What did you say to the guy?!" she glares at me once again. She probably expects me to tell her that I had befriended the guy; that we're now the best of friends or something; that's not true, though, not in the least.

"Nothing!" I say defensively, "I didn't say much of anything to him! I think I asked him if he was new here, and that's it! He never even really answered me, anyway! He told me to leave him alone… why would he want me to work on the project with you guys?"

"Still think he isn't crazy?" she asks with a mocking tone in her voice.

"What did he say?" I ask, ignoring her last statement. She folds her arms and shifts her weight from leg to leg, an obvious physical sign of tiredness, restlessness, and annoyance. I don't get it… why is she so annoyed with this?

"All he said was that he wasn't going to do the project unless YOU join us. This is my grade, Arnoldo! You have to do this, I can't afford to get a zero! He's such a psycho… he probably has a crush on you or something," she scoffs, looking the other way.

"Just because he's gay doesn't make him a psycho," I defend, crossing my arms.

"I don't mean it THAT way… I think he's a psycho anyway! I just think that the only reason he'd want you there is because he likes you. Why else would you request something like that from talking to a person for 5 seconds?" she eyes me, silently begging for me to contradict her again.

"Uh, huh." I look at her disbelievingly and tap my foot, "Ok, WHY is this so annoying to you?" I already know the answer, but for some reason I insist on torturing myself with the question.

"Psft! Come on! Like I wanna work with YOU!" she says, cocking her head towards me.

Heh, that's just what I thought she'd say… 

"Yeah, yeah… when am I supposed to do this _project_ with you?" I ask, looking annoyed. She frowns and kneels down to the ground. She flips her backpack in front of her and unzips it, looking unsuccessfully for something.

"There it is!" she exclaims, taking out a wrinkled, ripped, piece of paper. She looks it over and then hands it to me. "Here's what the project is on, Charlie wrote down his address AND when you're supposed to be there. Everything's pretty much covered except for the obvious.

"The obvious?" I look over the piece of paper at her.

"Yeah, you can't join the project just like that. You have to get permission from the teacher, doi." she rolls her eyes, closing up her backpack. "Yeah, and like I said, it's at Charlie's house so I'm kinda glad you're going."

"Really?" I perk a brow.

"Yeah. Who actually would want to go _alone_ to that guy's house?" she shudders. I roll my eyes.

I should have expected that. 

"When do you have some free time?" she asks, standing up again. The heaviness of her backpack almost makes her topple over, and I can't help but find amusement from that. She finally regains her balance and folds her arms once again.

"Why?"

"Ugh, so we can go get permission from the teacher, obviously, football head." she rolls her eyes again.

"Can't you do that alone?" I question, folding up the piece of paper she gave me and sticking it in my pocket.

"_NO_. You have to come with us so she can see that you're really serious about doing the project."

"Well, I'm kind of being forced into it, aren't I?" I say, a bit of a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

"Well, duh! But we don't want her thinking that, right? _Right_?" she glares at me. I nod and she sighs as though a weight as just been lifted from her shoulders.

"Good. Thanks for listening, football face, I appreciate it." she begins to walk away and puts her hands in her pockets once again.

"No problem." I sigh, reaching into my own pocket and feeling the piece of paper she gave me. I don't want this, I really don't. But I can't say no, now, right?

Right?

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Here's chapter 4... Once again, I hope you guys are enjoying the story as much as I enjoy writing it. It's great to know there are other people out there who enjoy psychology as much as me ;)


	5. Knocking on Forbidden Doors

I DO NOT OWN HEY ARNOLD!!! DON'T SUE ME!!! (I don't have any money anyway so you wouldn't get much out of it if you did) 

****

Return To Innocence

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"Short man, it's 7, you up yet?" I hear grandpa ask through my closed door. I mumble my usual indecipherable reply, then roll over in my bed. Funny, I didn't hear my alarm clock go off… I turn over to lay flat on my back. My red, dry, sleep-deprived eyes begin to adjust to the morning light falling gently through my skylight. Ah, mornings are always the best time of day, even if I can't grasp that just waking up. I moan a little seeing that the rain clouds from the day before have found a new home in a near or distant city. No longer are there rain clouds to shield my eyes from the oppressive sun.

"Ok, see ya' downstairs for breakfast, then." Grandpa replies with a chuckle. Doesn't he ever wonder what I said to him? Hell, I think even _I_ don't know what I'm mumbling anymore…

Today is different; today I'm not too late to eat breakfast. Still afraid I might have to make a mad dash out the door to catch up to my bus, I race down the stairs into the kitchen. I nearly smash into Mr. Potts, causing him to mumble more 'lousy things about mornings' as I pass him. He really isn't a morning person.

"Oh, hello Tex, would ya' like a flapjack?" Grandma asks, walking towards me dressed in a cowboy hat and spurs. I nod yes and she hands me the plate of pancakes. Grandma may not be much of a cook, but she does do a good breakfast… especially for someone who hasn't had any for a while. Grandpa walks into the kitchen, holding the newspaper in front of him, making it hard to see his face. He sits down in a chair across from mine and begins thumbing through the day's news.

"Oh, now would you look here, Pookie," Grandpa starts, smacking the page, "They're tearin' down the old music hall on 5th. No one has any appreciation for old buildings anymore." he sighs and folds up the newspaper, laying it down in front of him on the table. "Next thing you know they'll start tearin' down schools and offices! Why tear something down when there's nothing wrong with it? These people have nothing better to do than level the memories of old folks like us!" he huffs, touching the bridge of his nose.

"What's that you said, Cowboy?" Grandma asks, finally giving Grandpa the attention he asked for.

"Never mind, Pookie," he sighs, then looks at me, "Hey, short man! It's been a while since I've seen YOU at the breakfast table, what's the occasion?" he chuckles, leaning in his chair.

"Nothing, really. I'm just not-"

He glances at his watch.

"I'm late, aren't I?" I ask, dropping my fork to my plate. It made an incredibly loud 'TING' as it hit the rim. I look up at Grandpa, eyes half-lidded with resignation.

"No, not re-ok, well… maybe I should give you ride to school. That sound good to you, short man?" he asks, smiling. I sigh, nod, then get up from the table, and my half eaten breakfast, and follow Grandpa out of the kitchen.

"Class, does anyone know who the 2nd president of the U.S. was?" Mr. Reiker asks, leaning in his desk. The way he asked certain questions, like this one, you might get the feeling he didn't know the answer, himself. That's why he asked people, so they would maybe refresh his memory. I laugh a little at the thought. "Come on, kids, this is an easy one. Here, let me help ya'… if Washington was the first, and Jefferson was 3rd, then…"

As always, Phoebe's hand shoots up. She smiles smugly, relishing in the fact that she, and only she, knows the answer to this question. Sometimes I think she's showing off. 

"Anyone other than Phoebe?" Mr. Reiker asks, pretending not to see Phoebe struggling to get his attention. He sits up from his desk and walks over to the blackboard. He looks over to a shelf near by and picks up the meter stick, laying on one of the higher shelves. The class watches in silence, hearing only the futile squeaks from Phoebe, still trying to get her deserved attention from the teacher.

With a loud 'THWACK', Mr. Reiker smacks the meter stick against his right leg… without so much as a flinch. The class gasps. "Children! Can no one answer this?!" he says walking toward the kids in the first row. Instinctively, they all move back in their seats, trying unsuccessfully to get away from Reiker and his deadly meter stick.

"Mr. Reiker, over here!" Phoebe frustratingly yells. He rolls his eyes.

"Yes, Phoebe?" he says in a defeated tone. He sets the meter stick back down on his desk and waits for her to give her simple answer.

"John Adams, of course." she says in her simple, petite sounding voice.

"Thank you, my little well of knowledge." he says sarcastically. "That was so easy! All of you! All of you are going to fail my class if you can't even answer _that_! Where have you all been for the past week? This is all we've been talking about!" he scolds, picking up the meter stick and slamming it angrily on the surface of the nearest student's desk. The kid jumps back in his seat. 

"Can anyone tell me who was the only president to resign?" he asks, regaining composure, "This is a review, people, you should know this." he says, warningly, knowing he would receive the same response as the last question.

"Nixon." a student by the name of Annabel answers. 

"Correct!" he says, happily. "Ok, this is a REALLY easy one… Who was president during the civil war?"

"Lincoln!" says a boy sitting to the left of me, as if he'd reached an epiphany.

"Great! Wonderful! I can see that at least _some_ of you have been paying attention!" he sighs happily. It seems hard to understand how someone can go from being angry to happy over the course of mere moments… but I guess it's something you learn to do from being a teacher... From having to deal with we students. "I take it you boys and girls haven't finished the ditto I gave you yesterday?" the class looks confused at him. He never gave us a ditto...

"Well, get to work, then… it's due tomorrow." he states and goes back over to his desk. He sits down and picks up his satchel, looking through papers. The class looks around the room and murmurs things to their neighbor. Poor guy… so because the class won't speak up and say he never gave out a ditto, he will face the embarrassment tomorrow when he realizes it… 

That's IF he realizes it…

I feel I must speak up. I can't watch the man go through another class period believing he's giving us homework… when he never really remembers to assign anything or go to the copy machine in the school bookroom. "Mr. Reiker?" I start, my voice clear as a bell. At the risk of snickers from my classmates I go on, "I don't think you _gave_ us a ditto."

"Is that right?" he questions, putting on his reading glasses.

"I'm sure." I nod.

He frowns, "Well, sir, don't think I don't know what you're doing." he stands at his desk and points discriminately at me, "Just because YOU didn't do the work you think you can drag your whole class down with you, am I right?"

"No, what? That's not what I-"

"Please, kid, I know ALL the excuses." he sits back down and pays no more attention to me. What? I don't get it… then again, I never _get_ Mr. Reiker when he's like this.

I walk out to my locker as the last bell rings. The sea of teenagers threatens to sink me as I struggle to stay afloat. Too many people, I comment to myself, and never enough room. I brush past a multitude of people, each finding a new way to invade my personal space. I sigh.

So annoying…

"Hey, I was just going to go find you!" Helga says, surprised, as we bump face to face with one another. She steps back, leaving the appropriate amount of space needed between us. 

"Yeah, what for?" I ask, interested as to why she didn't call me football head, or yell at me for bumping into her. She takes a moment to compose herself from our _near_ collision in the hall.

"Ugh, you're such a moron…" she shakes her head. Ah, the insult, I would have been worried if she HADN'T said anything, "We've got to talk to my teacher, doi." she rolls her eyes. It's funny, you eventually learn to distinguish between what's _sincere_ and _insincere_ from someone such as Helga… but not right away, no. I've known her since the tender age of three, and I STILL have trouble in that department sometimes. But this time I KNOW she doesn't mean to be angry. I saw that when she nearly smashed into me. I saw the quick look of terror in her eyes… maybe from being so close to me. She looks at me for a second, then, realizing I'm looking back at her, grits her teeth and with a sneer says "Let's go." 

She grabs onto my arm, leading me through the mess of people. She grips harshly on me, maybe worried that if she lost hold of me I might run away… or get lost in the crowd. Either way, I'm happy with her attempt to keep me close. Afraid to lose me. It's so unlike her… but wonderful all at the same time.

We successfully make it out of the mad rush to escape the school and find ourselves in the social studies wing, adjacent to the English halls. We walk slower, she still holding onto my wrist as if it were life or death. She walks in front of me, kind of like she's dragging a toddler out of a toy department. She moves like she's angry, and it frightens me to think she might take it out on me. Her hand tenses, I can feel it. It's clammy and cold, like she were nervous about something. 

Oh yes, about the teacher, of course. 

She looks back at me, and violently lets go of me as if she's making a point. 

"So, what are you going to tell your teacher?" I question, then think about it and add, "And what exactly is it that I'M supposed to say?" 

"YOU say nothing, got it?" she says, slowing down so that we're walking at the same pace.

"And you?"

She ignores me. Instead, she decides to quicken her pace down the seemingly endless hall.

"Arnold? That you, boy?" I hear, and stop. I turn back and see Mr. Reiker standing, arms folded, in the doorway of his classroom. He smiles and laughs a little, "Well? Don't just stand there, come here and say hello!" he gestures with his hand and motions for me to come over. I frown. Does he not remember anything that happened this morning? About the dittos? Or maybe he's calling me over to apologize. I smile and start to walk over to him, then I feel a strong tug on my shirt.

"Ahem!" Helga says, pulling me back with her, "We have more important things to do!"

"Hold on!" I yank free of her and walk over to Mr. Reiker. "Hey,"

"Come inside, I need to talk to you."

"Okay," I turn to Helga, who's standing with her hands on her hips in the middle of the hall. She taps her foot impatiently and glares at me. "I'll be back in a minute, Helga!" I call after her as I walk into the classroom.

Mr. Reiker walks over to his desk and begins to look through a pile of papers. He looks confused and determined at the same time… if that's even possible. Perhaps It's a new emotion all together… he pulls his reading glasses out of his plaid shirt pocket and puts them on slowly. He pulls a single sheet of paper out of the stack and looks it over, observantly. "A-ha!" he proclaims and walks towards me. 

He hands me the paper and begins, "Look, I didn't mean to embarrass you today in class. Here's that ditto I was talking about. Ok, I'll give you a chance to make up the grade, but I'll have to dock you points for losing it." I frown. I feel anger rise up in me… 

"Look, I didn't lose it!" I can feel myself losing patience with this… this old man. He looks startled at first.

"Son, I know what-" 

I cut him off, "No you don't, see I-" 

he cuts me off as well, as if it were some sort of perverse payback, "No need to explain, I'll just-"

"Mr. Reiker?" I cut him off one final time and he looks at me slightly confused, "May I be excused? My friend is waiting for me."

"Why, of course, I just wanted to give you this chance to make up the assignment, that's all." he smiles and pats me on the back, gingerly, "See you in class tomorrow?"

"Yeah," I sigh and turn to walk out of the classroom. Nothing will be accomplished if I continue to try to _reason_ with the man. He says nothing and instead decides to watch me leave his classroom in silence. Not that I mind it.

Not that I mind it at all…

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

"You sure you want me to do this?" I ask, maybe in one last effort to actually be told I can go home and not do the project. It isn't so, though.

"Shut up, you're doing it!" Helga says, angrily. She makes small fists with her hands, "Do you not understand that this is my grade, football head?!" 

"I understand." there's no use in arguing with her, it's always futile.

"Ok, so… knock on the door." she pushes, nervously. 

Here we stand… at the door step of a lonely, unpredictable, boy… and his unknown family life. The house stands only a few blocks from my own. 

It looks dirty…

Decrepit… 

Un-kept…

The windows look forever foggy with their grime. Even inches away from them, I believe you still wouldn't be able to see right through them. It's kind of like that glass, or is it plastic I wonder, you put in showers. The kind where you know someone's in there moving around, but it's hard to tell exactly who. Helga looks worriedly around at the second story home, and cringes at the sight. Trash is everywhere around the stoop. The house looks abandoned, as if not a single living soul has been in or out for centuries. Part of me hoped that was the case, but now… I feel oddly compelled to see the residents of such an untidy living arrangement.

Curse my curiosity…

"Knock already," Helga says, barely above a whisper. She tugs lightly on my shirt and urges me to take the steps needed to reach the door. I take a deep breath and shut my eyes tightly. I almost laugh out loud, realizing I'm bargaining with God not to make me do this.

"Here goes nothing," I quickly take a few steps forward and knock on the old, dry, worn out, door. As I knock, the 'puke' green paint on the door chips and falls to the ground. It makes me wonder if, indeed, anyone lives here. 

I jump back and join Helga in the spot I once stood… before I ventured to the door of possibilities. Helga turns to me, looking at me as if I'm the bravest person she knows. It's just a door, I rationalize… but then again, it's a door to the _unknown_. It's scary in some explained way. I don't doubt that Helga and I are the first people to come to Charlie's house in a _long_ time… maybe we ARE the first.

The door creeks open a little, startling Helga and I and making us instinctively take a step back. It opens a little more and all that is seen is half of a face in the small opening, covered mostly by shadow. It's hard to tell who it is, so I step closer. The door closes a little more and the eye of the person behind it squints angrily.

"Charlie?" Helga says, confused, "It's us, me and _Arnoldo_, gonna let us in or what?" she places her hands on her hips. Perhaps being annoyed was her way of covering for her blatant nervousness.

The door abruptly slams shut. Startled yet again, Helga and I move away from the door. Amazingly, and quite unexpectedly, Helga's hand grips onto the back of my shirt. It seems weird, but with Helga, this seems to be her way of admitting she's scared. That she needs to be close to someone… to feel comfort. Maybe I'm overanalyzing, but this is how I see it.

The door opens again, this time it's Charlie in the doorway, looking at me dead on. "Sorry for the wait," he states matter-of-factly.

"I, oh, uh, it's fine." I smile and laugh nervously. I can feel Helga loosening her grip on my shirt and slowly, but surely, her hand lets go and glides down my back. I fight the urge to laugh, as this motion works effectively at tickling me. Her hand, still falling, brushes past my backside, too, causing me to wonder… did she do it on purpose? No, no… that's so out of line for me to think that… 

Or is it?

"That was my dad," Charlie says, looking back into his house, hidden by the shadows of insufficient light, "He, um, isn't too good with company. Can we go up to my room now?" his voice is flat, lacking any kind of emotion. It's bland, almost as if it were coming from a machine. 

Helga walks ahead of me, brushing against me harshly. I knew, of course, what the equivalent of that in words was… 'outta my way, bucko!' I smile and follow her into the house…

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Chapter 5, yippee!! Ok, now I'm starting to get into the actual story (finally). I hope you guys are liking this story of mine… hehe :D

Let me know what you guys think of it, too


	6. Beyond the Invisible

I DO NOT OWN HEY ARNOLD!!! DON'T SUE ME!!! (I don't have any money anyway so you wouldn't get much out of it if you did) 

****

Return To Innocence

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

"This is the kitchen, the bathroom's over there. It's kind of dirty right now, because I haven't had the time to clean it." Charlie points out as we walk through his dust and grime laden kitchen. He stops as we walk into the living room. The sun, trying hard to penetrate the royal blue curtains, sends small rays of light into the room. Its source? The small breaks between the ripped and worn-out curtains, themselves. It's the kind of light where you can see the particles of dust caught in the its path. It looks amazing to me, but I feel terrible when my eyes adjust to room's low amount of over all light. The house is in such disarray. I almost feel like saying no to the project all together until we can organize and clean this _home._

If it can be called that…

Charlie looks slightly back to Helga and I and points down the shadowed hall. "You guys aren't allowed there. My dad's room is over there and he would get really mad if people came snooping around." Helga nods. I'm not sure, but I think I can hear her teeth chattering. Is she really that scared?

"I see. So, where's your room?" I ask, stepping in front of Helga. Was that me trying to play her protector?

"Upstairs." he states and turns to walk toward the carpeted staircase.

"Are we allowed back in the kitchen? You know, if we're hungry or something." Helga asks, following closely behind Charlie and I. 

"Sure. You can if you want. I mean, Dad comes out to get stuff once in a while, but he usually doesn't stay long. Did I mention he doesn't like company?" he repeats, stopping as we reach the staircase. I look at the carpeting and see that it is hasn't been cleaned or vacuumed anytime soon. The stains are huge and dark, but forgotten and left to be stepped on and pushed deeper into the fabric. It's ugly and so very disgusting. The carpeting, beige in color, is ripped and ill-cut to fit where the ground stops and the stairs begin. Charlie looks up at us slightly and motions for us to go ahead of him. Helga pushes gently for me to go ahead of her, so I do so. I step on each step, slowly and individually, as if death awaits me at the top. It's funny how pathetically scared I am, but I can't help it. My surrounding look anything but friendly and inviting, so naturally it adds to my anxiety.

Step by step….

One step at a time…

We reach the top and Charlie eagerly steps in front of me. He walks to his door and waits for us to approach him. There's a bathroom adjacent to his room, but this one looks amazingly clean. Tidy. The tile isn't incrusted with dirt and grime, unlike the kitchen downstairs, and the walls look completely free of dust. Charlie's door, unlike the few I've seen in his house so far, is clean. The paint isn't chipped in the least and looks like a fresh coat of paint has just been applied. "Now, I must warn you, my room isn't very clean. I didn't expect you all to be coming over today, really. Helga reminded me of it this morning." he still faces his door as he speaks. Slowly, he turns the doorknob and lets the door swing open slightly. Charlie steps in and gentlemanly motions for Helga to follow him. Of course, Helga huffs first, then accepts his proposal.

His room. 

Not dirty in the least. 

This guy must me a perfectionist… or have a slight complex about cleanliness, I decide, as I follow Helga over to his bed. She and I both sit down, making the bed sink in so that naturally we'd be pulled closer together. Gravity, it must be. She scoots over some, leaving more room between us. Charlie looks at us for a moment, staring deeply at us… searching for something under the surface.

"Um, shall… we… get started?" I smile nervously, ear to ear.

"Of course." he stands and walks over to his backpack. He doesn't dig through an untidy backpack as Helga does, no… his bag is clean. There are no loose papers among his books, and the books themselves are in fine condition. His face is still emotionless. It makes me wonder what could be going through his mind. I suddenly remember my encounter with Charlie's dad and feel the need inquire.

"So, Charlie, what exactly is wrong with your father?" he stops searching his book bag and stays on his knees. He stares blankly in front of him. I was out of line, wasn't I? I want to take it back… take it back! "Oh, but, if you don't want to talk about it… that's fine," 

"No." he says. No, what? 

"Heh, heh, was that a 'no, I don't want to talk about it,' or 'no, I _do_ want to talk about it'?" I ask further. Helga looks at me with a frown. Her expression is hard to tell… she's either telling me to stop asking him, or she's saying she doesn't want to know. With Helga, either answer is acceptable.

"No, I don't want to talk about it." he says in his familiar, emotionless tone. 

"Oh… ok. Did I upset you, because if I-"

"Just stop, ok? You came to do a project, and that's all we're going to discuss, alright?" he looks directly at me, the first time since he greeted Helga and I at the door. Now it's my turn to frown.

"Hey, look, you asked ME to do this project! The least you can do is be nice to me." Helga looks at me again… this expression I can tell. Anger. Heh, she displays that expression quite a lot.

"Fine. Sorry." he says, flatly. I'm… confused. Was that sarcasm?

"I mean, why don't I just leave?" I go on further; somebody stop me, please, "It's not like this is going to be a good working environment, anyway. Plus this is YOUR grade, not mine. I don't have to do this, you know." I stand up.

"Arnold?" he uses my name for the first time.

"What?" I harshly throw at him. I fold my arms.

"Just sit down, please?" he begins to look through his backpack again. That's it?

"So, Charlie… what kind of music you listen to?" Helga cuts in, glaring at me while Charlie's back is turned. Anything to change the subject… I'm happy.

He sighs, "Can we just talk about the project now?" he asks, turning to face her. Whoa, and I thought he was just being mean to ME… no wonder people don't like to talk to him. As mean as this may sound, I can actually understand why people ignore him. Not quite Mr. Personality, is he?

Ok, so on to the project… 

The thing is, Helga and Charlie and in an AP English class. To put it simply, the advanced class. I always knew Helga would succeed in that department. She has such a talent for capturing emotion with her writing. It's no wonder she's in a class like that. Charlie on the other hand… well, lets just say I doubt he has the kind of talent Helga does… considering his own lack of emotion. 

The three of us sit in a triangle on the floor next to his bed. …not exactly an equal triangle, seeing as though Helga and I are sitting closer together and seem to form an 'alliance', with Charlie sitting awkwardly in front of us. The carpeting in his room is much different than the rest of the house… or should I say, the parts that I've seen. It's soft. It's green in color and, unlike the carpeting downstairs, has no stains whatsoever. It's so comfortable to sit on; almost like sitting on a comforter.

"I think I should be in charge of getting the poster and props. I mean, I can draw fairly good." Helga begins, arrogantly pointing at herself. Charlie nods. He looks intensely at her and I suddenly feel uncomfortable. 

"Uh, so Charlie, what are you going to do?" I ask. He thinks about it.

"The research." he states.

"Ok, Helga's doing the drawing, you're doing the research… what is left for me to do?" I ask, almost incredulously, and frown. 

"You can present." Helga offers.

"In YOUR class?"

"Why not?"

"All alone?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't think so." I fold my arms. Why am I being _hostile_ all of a sudden?

"Come on. Charlie here's practically a mute when it comes to these things, and _I'm_ sure as hell not going to present alone up there." Helga challenges, crossing her arms.

"So you think I can?" she nods.

"Why not? I mean it would be the easiest part of the project."

"Why am I even doing this? I keep saying to myself that if it helps your grade I'm ok… but that doesn't cut it. I mean, come on, you want me to present? Why? I don't think you give Charlie enough credit. He talks!" 

"Yeah, right. One-on-one, he talks, but-"

"See! You keep acting like he's a child and can't even talk for himself!" I point to her, propping myself up on my knees.

"So what!?" she gets on her knees as well, "He can't present, football head, and that's the end of it!" she slams her fists down on the soft carpet.

"Yes, he can!" I cry, frustrated with her ignorance.

"NO HE CAN'T!" she yells, louder than I.

"YES… HE… CAN!!!" I scream, leaning closer to her, hatred plastered all over my face. Deep creases are appearing between by brows, I can feel it.

"Enough!" Charlie yells. Helga and I look towards him, surprised at his sudden outburst. He showing any kind of emotion would startle us, but shouting? "I'm not a kid, and I'm not a mute." he says, returning slightly to his normal tone.

"_I_ didn't say you _were_." I say, quietly. I look over at Helga. She glances at me then quickly turns and focuses her attention on his wall. She smiles, suddenly.

"You like art?" she stands up and approaches a poster on his wall. I follow her with my eyes as she moves. Indeed, the picture is very well drawn.

"Yes." he looks at her as well, "You like it?" 

"Yeah," she replies, distracted.

"You can have it."

"_What_?" Helga and I both say, confused, looking at him. 

"You can't be serious," I speak first, "That's… that's just too… beautiful… to give away."

"Hey, hey, was he talking to YOU, football head?" Helga places her hands on her hips and glares at me.

"It's not worth much." Charlie says, flipping through some papers laying out in front of him.

"How can you say that? Why" I question, standing up.

"I drew it, that's why. I can tell the value of my own work." he states, rubbing his eyes. He looks tired… or frustrated.

"Obviously not, buddy," Helga says. she sighs and looks back at the artwork. She seems to distracted to even realize what she's saying as she says, "There's no way I'm taking this. Sorry, it's just too…" she gestures toward the drawing, "beautiful…" she finishes in a whisper. 

"That's why I want you to have it."

"Me?"

"Anyone."

"Oh _thanks_." Helga rolls her eyes, "But why give away something so valuable?"

"The greater the value, the greater the pleasure in giving it." he says, looking at her. I watch the two exchange glances. Helga looks uncomfortable under his gaze… I can't say I don't blame her. 

"Charlie?" I cut in. I feel somehow like her protector today… I feel as though I must play 'big brother' to her...

"What?" he looks at me, eyes half-lidded. He must be tired.

I don't even have anything to say, I realize. I only wanted to keep his eyes away from Helga. I feel strangely proud of myself and confused at the same time. "I… oh, I um…" I search his pale blue eyes for something to say, something that will get me out of this awkward silence, "it's late, I think I ought to be getting home."

"We've only been here for an hour!" Helga protests, and steps forward. Her expression is that of a deer caught in headlights. It makes me want to laugh, but I, instead, nod sympathetically at her. I don't want to be here anymore. It's too much… too much Charlie. I look over at him and see he's still thumbing through papers. He doesn't seem to realize I'm even here. It's as if he's forgotten that is was HE who asked _me _to join the project. I frown. I don't understand this boy. He's… he's…

…not right…

"I'll… be… seeing you." I say to him. He nods slightly, too engrossed in his paperwork to look at me. I look over at Helga who's giving me the 'I can't believe you're doing this' look. I smile and walk over to her, placing my hand on her shoulder. She looks at my hand then at me. Question fills her eyes and I feel suddenly self-conscious. I tense and pull my hand away, letting it fall to my side. "I'll be seeing you too," I smile again.

"Yeah, whatever," she turns away from me, arms folded across her chest. I tilt my head a little to try to see her expression, but I'm unable to. I then turn and walk to Charlie's bedroom door. I glance back at Helga and he one more time before finally leaving the scene. I can't say I'm not happy to be leaving.

As I trudge downstairs I catch a glimpse of Charlie's dad leaving the kitchen. He's fat, unshaven, and greasy. The question of 'when was the last time this man showered', passes through my mind. He looks at me, not trying in the least to smile or say hello. He stares as if I'm an alien species, and it makes my skin crawl. I want to run away.

"Hi, I'm Charlie's friend," I start. A friend of Charlie's? Should I go as far as to say _that_? I walk down the rest of the stairs and walk towards him in the living room. He stands, almost in the hallway, motionless.

He says nothing and, instead, opts to walk away from me. I'm afraid to say anything further as I watch him walk down the shadowed hall… the hall steeped in so much mystery. I hear a door slam and take it as a sign to get the hell out of here… this house is very creepy… 

Very creepy indeed…

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Heh, I got this chapter done a little faster this time. I would have made this part of chapter 5, but decided that it deserved to be a chapter on it's own. Hope you like it, hehe! And tell me what you think! ;D 


	7. Push the Limits

I DO NOT OWN HEY ARNOLD!!! DON'T SUE ME!!! (I don't have any money anyway so you wouldn't get much out of it if you did) 

****

Return To Innocence

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"Lets talk about Reconstruction, woo!" exclaims Mr. Reiker, excitedly. Groans follow his declaration, much to his dismay. He rolls his eyes, and waves dismissively at the class, "See, it's ok that you all feel that way, because frankly, boys and girls, I could care less." he smiles, showing a less than perfect set of yellow teeth. He walks over to the blackboard and draws a chart upon it with his small, last remaining remnant of chalk.

I sit at my desk, quietly observing the clear morning sky through the window. Something about this class makes me… daydream… more than any other. It's not that the class is boring, no, that's not it. Then what? Does Mr. Reiker so evoke such imagination? Does he _really _call forth the tendency to 'space out'? Or, perhaps, it's merely my _own_ tendency. Maybe it's just me…

__

"You know, I've been thinking a lot about Democratic and Republican issues…" I hear, like a dead echo, coming from Mr. Reiker himself. I'm not sure what part of the lesson we're on; I don't know much of anything right now…

__

it's simply too tempting to just leave my conscious mind behind. It might even be TOO much to ask for me to pay attention. To focus. To be a responsible, hardworking, student. Yes, it's too much right now…

__

The bell rings for class to be dismissed, and I'm not too happy about that. It's time to leave my class of daydreams and enter a more responsible one. English. Ugh…

I'll never be the writer, or poet, Helga is… so I really don't try. English has always been one of those 'iffy' subjects. You know, the ones where you're not too noticeably good at it, but you're not exactly _terrible _at it, either. It's somewhere in the middle. On the boarder line. Heh, yeah, on the boarder line, which seems to be where my average usually resides…

Periods go by so fast sometimes, it feels unreal. It's true what they say, though… time really does fly when you're having fun. Ever notice the classes you enjoy always seem to be the shortest? Or that the classes you hate always seem to make the minutes go by like hours? Yes, I'm sure you know exactly what I'm talking about. 

Classes…

School in general. I really have no problem with it. In fact, you could say I actually enjoy it most of the time. I do homework. Yes, in that respect I AM quite a responsible student. I'm honest. It saddens me so when I see that at the beginning of class everyone is scurrying to their friend to get the answers on last night's homework assignment. It's pathetic, really, and it's hard to stomach the fact that these kids… America's sheltered and selfish youth… is also it's future. Sad, huh?

The halls in my school are dead now. It's lunch time and I was the last out of my 4th period class. It's funny how quickly people race to get out of the school building. I myself find it much safer to just wait until the rush has subsided, then take the risk of walking down the small, compact, halls of Hillwood High. Yes, much safer. My locker, much to my disappointment, is located quite a ways from my 4th period. It's inconvenient, and very irritating, to have to walk all the way across the school to the Social Studies halls just to go to my locker. Then, of course, having to walk all the way back to the cafeteria. Where's the logic, somebody tell me? 

"Arnold!" I hear down the hall. I turn quickly to see Gerald approach me. And… with that annoying girl Roxanne by his side. Funny, I thought he'd find someone new by now. I suddenly realize how bitter my thought was. God, what's wrong with me? I seem to be finding faults in everything lately… What is this? "You gonna hurry it up, or what?" Gerald asks as he finally gets close enough to lean on the locker door next to mine.

"I'm going, I'm going," I say, as I reach into my book bag and pull out unneeded books. "I see you're still with _her_."

"What?" Gerald frowns. I look over to Roxanne, drinking at the nearest water fountain and he follows my gaze.

"Oh, yeah, so I am." he stares longing at her. He frowns, as if confused, and scratches nervously at the back of his head.

"So, is this like a relationship, then?" I close my locker, slowly, examining the expression on my best friend's face. He glances at me, then looks back toward the object of his affection.

"Maybe. I can't tell yet." he reaches his hands into his pockets and looks down. He then smiles and looks up at me, not moving his head, just as a shy child would, "I really like her, though. I wish you did too." he looks back to her for a second. I feel guilt, immediately. I feel terrible. But… I still can't change my opinion of her. I think THAT is what makes me feel the worst.

"I'm not sure, should we do this project on French, Russian, or Native American literature?" Helga asks, as she, Charlie, and I sit comfortably on Charlie's bed.

"You're asking _me_?" I humorously ask. 

"Why not? Which should it be?" she asks, further more.

"I think-"

"Why don't we do it on a specific author?" Charlie asks, cutting me off. I would like to think it was on accident, but as I look at him, he seems to be taunting me with his expression. Ha! What expression? But see, there's something about his eyes. It's as if he doesn't need facial expression at all. If you look close enough, you can see exactly how he feels… his eyes make him transparent in a way.

"Like who? Bradford? Nabokov? Rowlandson? Like I said, we need to narrow it down to the style before we can go in and select a certain author." Helga says, looking through her notes.

"Why not just select an author? What's the point of going and doing more research if we can just pick one?" Charlie challenges.

"Alright fine, who do you pick?" Helga stops and looks angrily at him. 

It's funny how amusing arguments can be when you're not involved. 

"Why not Nabokov? Yeah, let's do it on Vladimir Nobokov."

"Why _him_?" Helga asks, disgustedly, "Isn't he the one who wrote that book, _Lolita_?"

"Yep." Charlie nods. If I'm not mistaken, he seems quite pleased with his choice.

"Why would we wanna do a project on someone who wrote such a _disgusting_ novel?" Helga rolls her eyes.

"It's not disgusting." Charlie states. "You know, it's people like you that make it hard for novels such as that to be recognized for what they are, great pieces of work. If you think it's just disgusting, you've really missed out… and maybe even the point of the story." 

This is getting interesting…

"No, I'm sure I didn't. I mean, the guy was in love with a 12 year old! Are you _really_ going to try to tell me that it's not disgusting? Please!" Helga laughs as if it's the stupidest thing she's ever heard.

"Yeah, ok, point taken. He falls in love with a 12 year old, yes, but only because of Annabel. I mean, if he hadn't met and loved Annabel, he never would have found her again in Lolita." Charlie states. He goes silent for a few moments, then his face brightens up "Hey, why don't we do the project purely on _Lolita_? Yes, it would be brilliant! We could do an analysis on the main character, Humbert, and show-yes! That's what we'll do! I mean, considering how controversial the book is in the first place, it would prove very interesting to show different points of view on it… provide reasons why people misinterpret the book's meaning and such… hey, that's a great idea!" Charlie stands from the bed. This may be the first time I've seen him excited about _anything_. He laughs and runs over to his book shelf. Helga stays silent and watches, as I do, as he tears through his collection of books. He searches for merely a couple moments before he gets his hands on… yes, _Lolita._

"Eww, gross, I'm NOT doing an English project on THAT!" Helga stands from the bed as well.

"Why not?" I finally enter the conversation.

"What do you mean, why not!" Helga looks at me, obviously angry with my blatant contradiction to her, "Haven't you ever READ the story?!"

"Well, no, but-"

"Here," Charlie tosses me the book, "Read it. If you're really as smart as Helga says you are, you'll like it." 

"Charlie, I don't want to do it on that!" Helga says, raising her voice slightly. She walks over to him and glares up at him, "This is MY project too, and I say NO!" she pushes on his chest. He stumbles back slightly and looks disbelievingly at her. Heh, he's just been introduced to 'Helga G. Pataki'.

He looks slightly stunned, then glares at her… angrily? Oh my, I think this is the first time he's displaying anger… Funny how you can take certain emotions for granted sometimes…

He walks a bit closer to her and nudges her back. I'm broken from my amused state and am offended. Not that he's pushing Helga, really, but that he's pushing a girl at all. "Hey, hold on!" I jump from the bed and walk over between them, "Maybe we… should just calm down, yes?" I place one hand on Charlie's chest, keeping him at arm's length, and the other at Helga's collar bone. The two glare at one another until I see Helga roll her eyes.

"I'm going downstairs." she says and walks over to the door. She slams it closed and I'm left alone in the room with Charlie. He looks at the closed door as if he's trying to see through it. I even find myself trying to look where he's looking; trying to see what he's seeing. 

It's futile, though…

"So, I take it we're doing the project on _Lolita_, then?" I ask, finally walking back over to his bed and sitting down. Charlie looks over to me, and nods.

"Yeah. Honestly, it doesn't matter what Helga says. I'm kind of heart-set on this now. The funny thing is, if she hadn't mentioned the author, I never would have decided on it." 

I nod, then look uneasily at him. It's still kind of awkward to be in the same room alone with him, "May I go downstairs for a minute? I wanna get something to drink." I get up from the bed.

"Yeah, sure. If you see Helga down there, tell her hurry up and get back." with that, I walked out of his room and shut the door, quietly, behind me.

As I walk down the stairs, I hear voices coming from the kitchen. I walk into the living room, feeling safe in the fact that who ever is making the noise can't see me. I walk to the doorway of the kitchen, being careful not to let myself be seen along the wall.

"Yes, Charlie and I are pretty good students," I hear the voice of Helga.

"Charlie's really a good student? Like _you?" _asks a man, with a lilt in his voice. The voice is unfamiliar to me; it's rough and deep.

"Yeah… I…" she pauses, "Don't you have anything better to do than talk to me?" I hear a cabinet slam, unintentionally. The rattling of dishes follows and I hear the faucet turn on.

"No, not really," the man says. It's quiet now; no one is saying anything and it alarms me somehow.

"What are you…?" I hear Helga ask, quietly… alarmed, herself, at something. I can hear it in her voice. What could be going on in there, I wonder?

"Nothing. I… You'd better go back upstairs." the man orders, and then walks quickly out of the kitchen. He passes quickly by me, hardly noticing my presence, standing unseen next to the doorway. Perhaps even if he DID see me, I doubt he would have stopped. He walks down the shadowed hall once more and again I hear his door slam. Yes, I know now that the voice in the kitchen was that of Charlie's father. I stare down the hall for a moment then walk into the kitchen where I see Helga placing some plates down in the sink. She stands, slightly slumped over the sink itself. 

"H-Helga?" I start, feeling suddenly scared about something. I don't even know what, I realize.

"What?!" she asks, still facing away from me. She stands up straight, suddenly aware that I'm in the room.

"That was Charlie's dad, huh?" I ask, casually, walking over to the refrigerator.

"So what if it was?" she returns, slightly annoyed with the question.

"Nothing, just wondering." I say.

I left Charlie's house quite late today, finding it more comfortable than the previous time I'd been there. Something was different about it. Maybe it was seeing Charlie argue with Helga. He showed conviction about something, which impressed me and finally made me throw out the idea that he was incapable of emotion. He has quite a bit of emotion, though I haven't seen all of its potential yet. 

I walk into my room and throw my backpack down on my bed. I suddenly remember that I must read that book Charlie lent me. Well, obviously! I mean, I have to know the story if I'm going to do a project on it. I walk over to the book bag and slowly unzip it. I retrieve the book and walk quietly over to my desk, sitting down and flipping to the beginning of it.

I begin to read…

_Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin. My soul. Lo-lee-at: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta._

She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Lolita.

Did she have a precursor? She did, indeed she did. In point of fact, there might have been no Lolita at all had I not loved, one summer, a certain initial girl-child. In a princedom by the sea. On when? About as many years before Lolita was born as my age was that summer. You can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style.

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, exhibit number one is what the seraphs, the misinformed, simple, noble-winged seraphs, envied. Look at this tangle of thorns…

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This chapter may be a little confusing for those of you who have never read or heard of the book, _Lolita_. That's ok, though, you'll understand more about the story as I go on. And, for those of you who wish to see the A/H pairing, the book will have a lot to do with it… that's all I'm going to say about that, hehe!

As always, tell me what you think! ;D


	8. Shadows In Silence

I DO NOT OWN HEY ARNOLD!!! DON'T SUE ME!!! (I don't have any money anyway so you wouldn't get much out of it if you did) 

****

Return To Innocence

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"You look tired," Lila says as she approaches me after school. Yesterday, I refused to go over to Charlie's house, which upset Helga quite a bit. I couldn't bring myself to do it. I don't know why, but I didn't feel comfortable going over there. Something… something MADE it uncomfortable, but I'm still having trouble figuring it out. The last bell has rung. The halls have cleared out. Everything is quiet now… everything except for the distant echo of Lila's absent-minded comment. She, again, absent-mindedly sets her hand on my shoulder. It feels like some sort of parental comfort, so I ease into her small sign of affection.

"I am." I say with a sigh.

"May I ask why? You look just awful." she says and lets her hand slide from my shoulder. I know she didn't mean what she said as an insult, so I let it go.

"I _feel_ awful." I say, slowly. She gives me a weak smile and winks.

"Well, Arnold, I'm ever so sorry to be leaving you when you feel this way, but I've got to be going. See you tomorrow!" she skips off, almost childishly, and I smile a little. I wave, but she doesn't see me and I return to my locker. Ugh, curse the man who invented homework! Today I don't want to deal with work, I just want to go home and sleep.

"Where were you yesterday!" I hear Helga squeal.

So much for going home and sleeping.

"I had to get home right away, grandpa needed me to do some housework." I lie.

"Really?" she sounds unconvinced. "Well, while you were home doing _housework_ I was with Charlie!"

Obviously? "I know."

"Well, so don't you think housework can wait?!" she says, placing her hands on her hips.

"Well, no. I mean, I would have gone but grandpa needed me!" I defend.

"Look," she poked me with her index finger, "Don't ever skip out on me like that again, EVER!" I back away from her. She slams my locker closed and follows me, backing me up against the wall.

"Why are you so upset?" I ask, almost in a pleading manor.

"Because I don't like-what do you mean why am I so upset? You ditched me!" she says, raising her voice even higher.

"So?! If I weren't part of this project you'd be alone with Charlie anyway, so why get angry if I can't make it one day?" I pause and examine her expression of anger, "And what don't you like?"

"What?"

"You were going to say something then you stopped. What was it?"

There is a pause. 

"I didn't say anything, football head. Lets go; we have to go to Charlie's now." she turns and walks away from me. Confused, I stand alone a minute longer and watch her retreating form.

"Helga, come on… wait…"

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

"You knock." Helga says, again pushing me forward to the door.

"How did you ever get along without me?" I ask, sarcastically. Feeling a small bit of comfort that Helga was stand with me, I confidently knock four times on the old, decrepit, door. There's no answer.

"Eh, this happened yesterday, too." Helga quietly comments. 

"Where's Charlie's dad when you need him?" I jokingly say, but Helga remains silent. "Helga?" I turn to look at her, but I only get a quick glimpse as the door swings open loudly, but then closes a little to leave the door only slightly open.

"What is it?" Charlie's dad asks. I can't see him, as he's once again masked by the shadows, but I recognize his voice. I feel weird, as if the nothingness of the shadow is the one speaking to me, not Charlie's father. It's an awful feeling, and I shiver with eeriness.

"Let us in." Helga says quite boldly. There is no movement for several minutes between the three of us. Helga stands strong against this once 'scary' figure to her. I don't understand it… what did I miss yesterday? Helga begins impatiently tapping her foot. I turn to look at her and she frowns, keeping her gaze to the door. She pushes ahead of me and peeks into the house. "There's no one here, lets go in." she says and steps in. For how long were Helga and I standing there before we realized that Charlie's elusive father was no longer there? Oh well… so I follow Helga, the enigma, into the broken home. I realize I could have just gone home, but that wasn't an option today… it wasn't.

Helga moves through the house as if she's known it for years. She no longer fears the interior creepiness and freely walks about. I feel as though it's MY turn to cower behind her.

Cower behind Helga… yeah, like _that's_ a new one…

"Charlie," Helga calls, as we approach his room. As familiar as Helga seemed to be with the house, she doesn't seem to feel that same way about Charlie's room… for whatever reason. 

"So what did I miss yesterday?" I ask, walking in front of her so I can finally face her.

"A lot." is all she'll give me for an answer. She knocks on Charlie's door and we wait. …and wait. …and wait. No one's there, I know, but Helga doesn't want to admit it. The scarier thought, perhaps, would be that she and I are alone in the house with Charlie's dad. She knocks again. Frustrated, she pounds on the door once more, then…

"WHAT DO Y- Helga?" Charlie throws the door open, much like his father, and stares at the two of us.

"Took you long enough, what were you doing in there?" Helga asks, suspiciously.

"It's my room, what did you _think _I was doing?" He answers her question with one of his own. After a few moments of the two staring at one another Charlie sighs, "I was sleeping. I'm tired. I really want this to get over with quickly, so go in… hurry up." he looks to the floor. I nod and walk past the two into his room. 

His room…

It looks… different.

It's not clean. In fact, it looks as though a hurricane has just blown through… which surprises me. What happened to his tidiness? Charlie and I sit down on the floor and watch as Helga walks over to the bed. She throws her backpack down and searches through it for the book… the _Lolita_ book…

"Here's what I think," she starts, flipping through her 'property of the public library' book she checked out. For a second I wonder if her version is the same as the one Charlie lent me. "I think Charlie's right."

"About what?" I inquire.

"I think we SHOULD do something on Humbert Humbert. He's the one telling the story, he's the one with the 'problem'… it would work."

Now, see, to properly understand this I must tell you what I know about this Humbert Humbert character. He's a man in his forties, who moves to America to take up a teaching position at Beardsley College. Humbert Humbert (yes, that's his name) has a troubled past, though. See, at the tender age of 14 he met and fell in love with Annabel… who died four months later of typhus. He never quite deals with her death and so he seems to never really grow up… he stays a child at heart for the rest of his life. Even after Annabel's death he searches for her… in other girls… long after he leaves his own childhood behind. 

Humbert needs somewhere to stay, and after finding out that the house he was originally supposed to stay at has burned down, Charlotte Haze agrees to accommodate him. So here he is in America, living in the home of Charlotte Haze, who seems to have an attraction for Humbert, but he does not feel the same way… in fact, Humbert has an attraction for her daughter… little Dolores of only 12 years of age. Like I mentioned, he searches for Annabel… and only finds her again in Lolita. 

Disturbing, huh? 

Anyway, as Helga begins to explain her idea… the same idea that Charlie had proposed days before… she stops and looks at me. She frowns, "Are you even listening to me?!" she says, raising her voice a bit. I realize that I had actually began to daydream as she was speaking… no, I wasn't listening to her, I comment to myself, a bit humorously. 

"Yes, of course," I reply. Before she can question me further I say, "Yes, I think that idea about Humbert is a great one. I think it would be really interesting to show that he's actually a human being, not the pedophile people would think he is."

"But isn't he?" Charlie asks, looking at me dead-on.

"Isn't he what?"

"A pedophile. Yes, we should stress that he's human, but you can't escape the fact that he likes little girls."

"Wait a minute… aren't you supposed to be on my side? Helga was the one saying this stuff and you were against it." I say, laughing a little at the irony.

"So maybe I've had time to think about it." he says, without humor.

"But… I don't understand, last time-"

"It's different now, ok?" he says, deadly-serious.

"Ok, then…" I look over to Helga, who's not really paying attention to Charlie and I. She seems too engrossed in her book to notice.

"Hey, you know what?" she starts again, "What if since we're doing a character analysis for Humbert, we do one for Lolita too?" 

"Hey, that's a great idea!" I spout, maybe a bit too excitedly.

"Yeah, of course it is, I said it." she says smugly. I smile. She blushes and smiles too. 

"You know, Arnold," Charlie interrupts, "I think I left my backpack downstairs. Do you think you could get it for me?" 

I frown, why can't he get it himself? "Uh, sure… I'll be back in second." I stand up and walk to his door. Helga looks to Charlie with an expression of… anger? Why? Did she also see how unfair it was to make me get the book bag?

Downstairs it's quiet, almost too quiet. I don't see his backpack anywhere in the living room so I step into the kitchen. No sign of the thing. I take a step back into the living room and happen to look down the shadowed hall. Could it be there? I'm not sure, so I begin to walk down the mysterious part of the house. The light is getting dimmer and dimmer and I come to the conclusion that there aren't many windows in this part of the house. I hear the faint sounds of a television set and see that one of the doors in the hall is slightly ajar. I walk over to it and see the greens and blues reflected in the dark room by the television set. The room seems empty so I push it open a little. Could Charlie's backpack _really _be in _this_ room? No, it's probably not, but my curiosity has quickly made finding the backpack not the top priority. 

Disgusting.

There is food everywhere. Old bags of chips, dirty clothes, dirty plates with roaches crawling about, and the room as a whole as a foul smell to it. Obviously this is Charlie's dad's room. It's horrible and such a stark contrast to his son's _usually_ clean room… although right now, the two rooms seem to have a few things in common. I walk over to the small, 19 inch, television set to see what the father has been watching, but am unable to because of the extensive amount of commercials on this particular channel. I look over to the bed and see sheets spread everywhere in a state of disarray. The bed posts look mangled and I walk over to inspect them when something catches my eye. I look to his closet and see something sticking out. Just barely, but enough to get me interested. I kneel down and touch it for a second… and realize it's rope. Why would-

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN HERE! GET OUT! GET OUT!" Charlie's father roars from the door, carrying a plate of food.

"What?! I'M SORRY!" I jump to my feet, but am unable to move.

"GET… OUT!" he screams and begins walking quickly towards me. I almost squeal like a girl as I finally find it in me to sprint to the door. Am I fearing for my life, now? Without looking back, I run to the front door, throw it open, and dash to the outside world…

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Wow, I haven't updated in a long time… sorry, heh. I've been busy with school and such so I haven't really had the time to write. I hope you're enjoying this story of mine so tell me what you think ;D

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A/N: the rating will have to change soon in upcoming chapters, so be prepared.


	9. Principles Of Lust

I DO NOT OWN HEY ARNOLD!!! DON'T SUE ME!!! (I don't have any money anyway so you wouldn't get much out of it if you did) 

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Return To Innocence

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Out of breath and exhausted, I finally stop running. I must be at least a few blocks from Charlie's house. I take a few deep breaths to steady myself, then turn to look in the direction I was just running from. I try to slowly process the reason for my sudden dash and find that nothing _really_ makes sense. Charlie's room, his father's… Helga's weird and out of character behavior. Nothing. None of it makes sense. Guilt threatens to overtake me as I realize that in the rush of everything I left Helga behind… behind in that house… that horrible house. I continue to stare back, contemplating whether or not I should go back for her. I should, I know I should… but I can't. I can't make myself even take one step back in _that _direction. I feel helpless and selfish and… ashamed.

"Hey, man," I hear, coming from behind me.

Maybe forgetting about it is best?

Maybe Gerald showing up is some sort of heaven-sent distraction? 

"…hey," I say, and fully turn toward him. I take another deep breath, hoping on some level that he doesn't notice I have been running.

He tilts his head for a second, as if to examine me, "You been to Charlie's lately?" he asks and returns to normal.

Oh, I could laugh out loud at that seemingly innocent question! Yes, yes I've been to Charlie's! If he only knew…

"Yeah, I should be th-" suddenly a perfectly genius plan pops into my head, "Say, do you want to come with? I'm going over there right now."

"I don't know, man… that kid's… he's… weird. I don't know if it's such a good idea to actually go over to his house, you know?" he says, looking away.

"Please?" I beg my friend.

"I don't know…"

"Come on, I'll be there. Nothing bad will happen," I pause, what did I mean by that? "…or anything like that. Please?!" I plead.

He sighs loudly, showing me that he's agreeing but also showing me his obvious distaste about his decision. "Fine… but you owe me."

"I know, I know, thanks!" I say, gratefully.

"No, I really mean it. YOU OWE ME, man," he stresses, jokingly. 

Somehow, no matter what horrific things I will have to face ahead of me… having Gerald there always makes me feel just a bit more courageous, yet just a bit more scared… go figure…

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The door, we find, is still left wide open. The house seems to look even more abandoned and off limits now. The door being wide open, I thought, would make the house more inviting when in fact, it's just makes it seem that much more forbidden.

"Wow, this family must not be too scared about robbery," Gerald tries to joke, "Shall we just step in, or ring the door bell?" to this he bursts out laughing, but I can't join in. I know more that he does, which makes it harder for me to find anything funny about the subject.

"Just step in," I say, distantly. I walk into house, wait for him to follow me, then close the door quietly. I then walk quickly to the stairs, alone. When I realize I had forgotten about Gerald I turn to his direction and find him staring at the interior of the house.

"You've got to be kidding…" he says, looking around, "This place is a dump!"

"I know," I say quickly, "Come on, we gotta go upstairs." Gerald nods and begins to walk in the direction of the stairs. I follow him with my eyes, making sure he doesn't go wandering into some forbidden part of the house as I did. Gerald can be distracted easily and can be just as curious as I. I fear, somehow, that Gerald might get caught up in this disturbing Charlie thing and it would be my fault. I couldn't do that to him.

Walking up the stairs, I find it harder and harder to take the next step. I should have stayed with Gerald outside. I shouldn't have come back. I turn back to look at my friend, who's now looking at the walls, inspecting it's dirtiness just as I did, and something catches my eye. Down at the bottom of the stairs is Charlie's dad. He looks at me… evilly? Would I go so far as to say he's evil? His expression is one I recognize from Helga… anger, with a touch of annoyance. I turn and walk quickly up the rest of the stairs and almost race to Charlie's door. The only comfort I have now is that Charlie's dad can no longer watch me. "Slow down there, Speedy." Gerald says as he finally catches up to me at Charlie's door. He doesn't seem to realize his _almost_ encounter with the _father _and for a second I begin to think I imagined the whole thing.

"Sorry," I say, regretfully, and turn the doorknob to Charlie's room.

"What took you so long!?" Helga says, baring that _familiar _expression. 

"N-nothing," I say weakly. I walk into the room and Gerald follows behind me. I close the door slowly, cautiously, and walk over with Gerald to where Charlie sat on the floor.

"What's tall hair boy doing here?" Helga asks, standing up from the bed and walking over towards us. 

"He's-" I start, but Charlie's door opens quickly and all our heads snap back to see who the visitor is. There, in the doorway, stands… yes, Charlie's father. Is he following me? Panic rushes through me and I, for a moment, contemplate running back through the doorway, down the stairs, and out of the house again. 

"What is it?" Charlie roughly asks his father.

"I came… to talk to you." he says, laughing mid-way through… a sadistic smile playing across his grotesque features.

"Not now." Charlie states. He turns from his father. I can see that in the corner of my eye, too deathly afraid, myself, to turn away from the madman at the door even just to look at Charlie. "Leave, _Dad._" Charlie says, almost in a mocking tone. 

The chemistry is clearly not _right_ between this father and son. It's as if they're not related at all… Charlie speaks as if he's reprimanding a child… no respect at all in his demeanor… and somehow that seems just to me.

"No, I want to talk." The father persists. Gerald and I reluctantly walk over to the bed and sit down. Helga looks to us and follows slowly. My attention is placed back up at the_ father_ as I realize something. He's staring at Helga… looking at her in a way that… sickens me. It really does. As if in slow motion, I look from the man to the object of his attention, walking slowly towards Gerald and I… apparently unaware of how violated she's being. 

I see his eyes looking… 

watching… 

as she walks… his gaze following up her legs, slowly, taking it all in. it's the first time in a long time that I actually notice what she's wearing. She looks almost like the little girl from P.S. 118 today, clad in a pink skirt and a white, almost oversized, t-shirt. 

He looks still… following the shapeliness of her hips… which I now come to realize are not those of a 9 year old. Wait, does this man realize she's only 14? Does he, I ask? Or perhaps the more disturbing question is…

Is he looking at her _because_ she's 14? 

His eyes…

Those disgusting eyes… still following her form… looking now at the more definitively feminine parts of her. Why won't he look away? Is he doing this to spite me? Yes, that must be it! Wait, no… how could he know this is making me upset? Am I looking physically uncomfortable? No… wait…

Why is he looking at her like that in the first place? I can feel my heart beating faster now… anger… anger rising up in this quiet boy I usually am. A startling thought pops into my head. What if something happened yesterday? What if he hurt her? That would surely explain his suggestive gaze, would it not? No, no… I refuse to except that. 

My thoughts are going a mile a minute as I see that Helga has sat down next to me… as I see the _father_ still looking at her _that_ way… Helga has to notice this, right? For a moment, I once again fear that I have imagined it all. No, I definitely know I haven't imagined it.

I look to the father again and see he hasn't averted his gaze yet…

Stop looking at her….

_Please_ stop looking at her…

Stop it…

Stop it…

"Stop it!" I scream, unintentionally. The other four people in the room look at me as if I'm insane. Am I? I regret such an outburst, but as I look to the father I realize he's now gazing at the floor, looking ashamed. Is he? I look closer and see he's stifling a laugh… he is… a madman. He's crazy, I know it.

"Stop what?" Gerald asks, raising a brow.

"_What_ do you want?" Charlie speaks up again, a bit more forcefully this time. I silently thank him for saving me from an embarrassing explanation.

The father looks from the floor to his son. Suddenly, he's featureless, his expression is one of stark seriousness. He says, flatly, "take out the trash." and with that, looks to Helga, then to me, then retreats through the door and slams it.

"Please… excuse his behavior," Charlie says, slowly, quietly.

"Uh… no problem." Gerald replies, apparently speaking to Charlie for the first time. Gerald gets off the bed and walks over to him, holding out his hand. "I'm Gerald,"

"Charlie," he says, then shakes the hand of my best friend. As confident as Gerald tries to be, I know he's a little shaken up about what just happened. I look over to Helga, who meets my gaze. She half-smiles. Is that a thank you? Did she really notice what was going on? Is she thankful I stopped it? Perhaps all of this is too much to ask, but still… it makes me happy to know she's grateful for _something_… 

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Lol, actually Snow Lane you ARE the reason I updated. See, like I said, I got really busy and didn't have time to write and I also sort of started to forget about it and such… then I saw your review and thought, "ok, I've GOT to start writing this thing again," and well, I did. Thanks for finally getting me back on track again ;)

Oh yeah, so can you guys see why I said the rating will have to change soon? The material is going to get more adult so… once again, you are warned… 


	10. Between Mind and Heart

I DO NOT OWN HEY ARNOLD!!! DON'T SUE ME!!! (I don't have any money anyway so you wouldn't get much out of it if you did) 

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Return To Innocence

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"Hey, Short man, home already?" Grandpa asks, as I walk into the living room. He and Ernie sit watching the news. I feel abnormally tired, and feel like going straight to bed, but no such luck… nope.

"You hear about that crazy lunatic out on the loose?" Grandpa asks, gesturing with a tap to his head. Ernie shakes his head.

"People today," Ernie says, "If I ever come across that guy… BAM!" he smacks his fist into the palm of his hand.

"What?" I perk a brow. "I haven't heard anything." I shake my head.

"Well, you see… there's a…" Grandpa looks around the room uncomfortably, "This man, you see, he's not… he…"

"He's a rapist." Ernie says flatly.

"Ernie!" Grandpa yelps, and animatedly grabs onto the sides of his head, "Don't say it to the boy like that!"

"What? It's not like he's never heard of the term before, right Arnold? I mean, he's what, 14 now? He's not a little kid anymore; he's practically a teenager now." Ernie rationalizes, folding his arms. I walk over to them and sit down, dropping my book bag on the way over to the couch.

"So tell me… what do they know about him?" I ask, totally disregarding the small argument between the two. This, capturing my attention… for some odd reason I have to know more. Perhaps it's not so odd to be intrigued by such a topic. Here, in Hillwood, it seems as though we have a such a low crime rate… for being a fairly big city, that is. Rape… isn't something commonly spoken between people… which might be a little odd in itself.

"Not much," Ernie says, lower, almost as if he were saying something top-secret to me, "They think he's a teenager, though… ya' got any suspicious looking kids in that high school of yours?" he eyes me, searching for the slightest notion that I might be dishonest with him.

"No. I mean, there are the 'weird' people, you could say," I say, emphasizing the word 'weird' with finger-made quotations, "but no one I'd say was a… rapist…" I look over to Grandpa and blush. Although I believe myself mature enough to use the word freely, I still find it embarrassing to have to say such a crude word in front of my grandfather.

"Hmm, well, be on the look out," Ernie says, shaking his head, disappointedly, "What is the world coming to?" With that, he gets up and walks out of the room.

"He's right," Grandpa adds, standing up, "People aren't always what they seem, short man, that guy could very well be a student at your school, who knows?" he turns to walk out of the room, but then turns to face me again. "So, what exactly have you been doing at that Charlie's house, anyway?"

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I walk into my bedroom and close the door slowly, cautiously, behind me. Today… has been odd to say the least. I'm not sure how I'm going to bring myself to see Charlie after school tomorrow. Looking him in the eye is becoming harder and harder as I come to know more and more about him. His father… his _family_ life isn't very good… somehow I feel sorry for the guy and afraid of him at the same time. Well, no… I'm not afraid of _him_… it's his father that creeps me out. 

Oh, yeah… _the father_…

…looking at Helga like that… 

I feel so angry about it. I feel like I should have done something more than… what I did. I know… I have to go to Charlie's even if it makes me uncomfortable to do so… for her. It's for her. I mean, how can I just skip out and let her fall victim to that man's gaze again… or worse…

I can't be a coward with this. I feel like I at least owe it to _her_. I left her for one day and look what happened? …or might have happened? I'm not sure anymore what DID happen… I should ask her… but wouldn't she just brush it off again? If I know Helga, she'll probably get even angrier that I'm persisting with the question. It's an important question, though, isn't it? Shouldn't I have a right to know if my friend's in some kind of trouble? …or has been in harm's way? 

Maybe I don't.

But I still want to know what happened.

There's a knock at my door and I, without the least bit of alarm, walk over to my bed and sit down, "Come in," I call.

The door creeks open a bit, "Short man? It's just me, I wanted to talk to ya'." Grandpa says quietly. He slides into the room and softly closes the door behind him. He walks over and sits down on the bed next to me. "Look," he starts, uncomfortably clearing his voice, "what we were talking about out there… I'm sorry it came out like that…" he looked away from me. This almost didn't seem real… Grandpa actually trying to be serious for once. He seemed really uncomfortable… probably secretly wishing Grandma were the one talking to me about this… but somehow I doubt she'd take it seriously enough.

"It's ok," I say, getting up from the bed, "You don't have to apologize."

"I just don't-" he pauses to examine my expression. He takes a deep breath and reluctantly smiles, "Ok, well… I'll have Pookey bring you up some hot chocolate." he walks to the door. 

"Thanks Grandpa." I smile awkwardly. He leaves my room just as quietly as he came. I feel weird and uncomfortable… that was probably the first awkward conversation between the two of us that I can remember. Somehow it's sad to me… I guess it must be hard for him to have to explain such crude things to me… his grandson… it would have been so much easier if my parents were still with me… such awkward moments wouldn't occur. 

Suddenly I feel resentful and angry… and just want to go to sleep…

Yes, that's right… sleeping it off would be best.

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"Ok, kiddies, hope you all are lookin' forward to three-weeks reports!" yells an overly happy Mr. Reiker.

Groans are an inevitable thing when discussing averages. Is anyone ever _really _satisfied with their grades?

"Oh, come on… you people worked for these averages, you should be excited!" he says, obviously bordering on sarcasm. "You, Phoebe, should be the most excited of them all." he hands her the progress report. "This young lady can get a 110 and you kids are having trouble reaching a 70? I don't understand it! What am I doing wrong? Tell me, students, how can I help you all to better yourselves?" he asks, crinkling the other progress reports in his fists.

"Teach us better?" says someone in the back row. Notorious for doing absolutely no work and sleeping throughout most of the class period, the boy's comment goes undignified.

"Yes, well… I knew averages this 6 weeks were going to be bad, but this is terrible! It's the end of the first three weeks, people! Are you _trying _to commit academic suicide?!" he slams his fits on the nearest student's desk, crinkling the progress reports even more. "This is horrible! Atrocious! What is wrong with you?! I ask you to do very little homework, very little book work, and still! Still you insist on failing one of the easiest classes you'll have!" he sighs loudly and shakes his head. "I guess I can't ask much from freshmen…" he says.

"Except for Phoebe," someone comments, under their breath.

"Yes, except for Phoebe." Reiker says, looking the student in the eye, challenging her to another rude comment. I look over to Phoebe who blushes at the sudden popularity of her name in the classroom. 

"I guess we can't _ask much _from a TEACHER with a loony for a son..." comments the unidentifiable boy in the back row, resentful of his last comment being ignored, no doubt. I look to him and see the smug smile spread across his not-so-attractive features.

"Now you watch your mouth, boy!" Reiker suddenly yells, capturing everyone's attention.

"What? This is history class, you've heard of something called free speech, right? You can't do anything to me for a comment I made."

"That's disrespect and I won't have it, you got it?!" Reiker yells in return.

"What are you gonna do, old man?" challenges the kid. 

"Shut up, Gary," says the girl in front of him, extremely un-amused... As are the rest of us. The comment is clearly inappropriate.

The bell rings soon after that… and everyone is still a little shocked by what happened in class. As the other students leave the room, I can't help but see more of the connection between Charlie and Mr. Reiker. Trying to lighten up, he walks over to me and says, "Come on, aren't you gonna be late to your next period, son?" he smiles the old yellow-toothed smile and I feel a little at ease.

"Mr. Reiker, can I ask you something?"

"Shoot." he says, leaning on the desk next to mine.

"You know that kid, Charlie? Charlie Reiker? Are you related to him?"

His smile fades.

"The reason I ask is because I'm doing a project with him, you see, and I was just wondering. Are you?"

"Yes." he says, shortly. 

"Is he your grandson or something… or maybe your son?" I ask, cautiously. It's a long shot, but perhaps Mr. Reiker is Charlie's REAL father?

"You calling Charlie a loony, boy?" he asks, a bit of humor in his question.

"No… no." I say.

"He's my grandson, yes."

"Grandson? Ok, well, I met his father and I was wondering-"

"Yes?" he looks warningly at me.

"I was wondering what was wrong with him. He doesn't seem… right, and I wanted to know if-"

"You're boarding on inappropriate student-teacher relations, son, I don't believe it's my place to tell you, or yours ,for that matter, to ask." 

"It was just a question, I didn't mean anyth-"

He raises his hand as if to take an oath, "Go to your next class, boy, I won't be discussing this any further with you." he walks to his desk. He acts as though I'm invisible as I stare at him. What is it with that family? 

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Moment of truth… here I am, at Charlie's front door, yet again. Will I go in. stay out? Run away, as I have before? No… I take a deep breath and reach for the doorknob. Turn it, slowly, I mentally direct myself. I slip in, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. It seems as though each time I come to this house I become less and less courageous. Walk quickly up the stairs and don't look back, I ,again, tell myself. This can be simple, uneventful, if I make that way, I somewhat reassure myself. I sigh… the only reason I'm here is for her. If she weren't a part of this I'd be safely at home right now. I can't, for the life of me, turn away from her now. I have to protect her. I have to save her from something tragic, I rationalize to myself. So here I am, at Charlie's door. I can't turn it yet… I must gather my courage and composure first. I hear speaking in the room. Almost whispering, but loud enough to be heard outside his door. Charlie's deep voice is heard more clearly, though, as he speaks, "…to you now?" is all I can make of his question. Helga must be replying, but her comment is but a mumble through the door. Then Charlie, more forcefully, says, "Don't lie to me!" almost begging… almost pathetically, in a way. "Please…" I hear him ask, sounding as if on the brink of a sob.

I frown, realizing that I'm listening behind the safety of the door. Here, yet another example of my lack of courage. It's pathetic, I know, but I can't go in there yet. What kind of person am I? Not a very good one to be listening to such a disturbingly distressing conversation… and not doing a thing about it.

Purely on an impulse, I quickly turn the doorknob and walk into the room… as if I'd only just then gotten there.

"Oh, hi, Arnold… didn't hear you _knock_." Charlie says, sounding a bit angry.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know I had to." I reply as if nothing. I look at Helga and smile, almost sympathetically. It's hard, but I must act as if nothing happened yesterday… for her. I can't make this any more uncomfortable for Helga. Wait, why the sudden shift in priorities?

"Hey, Arnoldo," she says in return, sounding obviously unaffected by what happened yesterday… or perhaps it's a cover? Perhaps she merely hides her feelings so well I can't notice?

"Hey, Helga… so, what have I missed so far?" I ask, sitting down next her on Charlie's feathery-soft carpet.

"Nothing really, she and I were discussing the ending and… how it's somewhat ironic." Charlie says, even though it's apparent I wasn't directing my question to him. He looks down at some pieces of notebook paper and shuffles them into a neat stack. 

Neatness… 

It seems his room has changed since I last saw it. No longer are his belongings in disarray. Neat… everything is so neat… almost too clean in a way… as if there's something to hide… something just below the surface, giving everything an eerie and uneasy calmness to it. Perhaps I'm looking too hard?

"Here, look at this," Charlie says, handing me the stack of notebook paper, "I made some character sketches, read them."

"Let me see," Helga says, grabbing to stack from me.

Our hands… 

…touching for a second. In that moment I catch a glimpse of Charlie. He looks knowingly at Helga and I, who simultaneously blush for some reason. I can't describe how odd it was… that moment… 

"So what have YOU been doing football head? Have you actually been doing any research or are you just relying on us for that?" Helga sarcastically asks, regaining her bad-girl image. I must say, it was nice to see her blush… a small sign of insecurity… or maybe it was from Charlie's watching her? Suddenly I realize something. Charlie… he's looking at her. All at once, images of the previous day flood into my mind. Is Charlie looking at her like _that_ too? What was he saying to her before I came into the room? A come-on? No…no… I'm getting ahead of myself. I only need to be over-protective when it comes to the father, right? …or do I? What if something DID happened the day I didn't come… but not with the father… with Charlie instead? What if HE hurt her? After all, if his father was looking at her like that… Charlie might too. Like father, like son, no? 

Suddenly, an alarming question pops into my head.

Perhaps it's Charlie that is the rapist they speak of on the news?

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Ok, so now you see there's a new rating. I hope that if you're reading this you have an open mind and are mature enough to handle the subject matter. Anyway, I hope you're enjoying the story so far ;D

Tell me what you think


	11. Gravity of Love

I DO NOT OWN HEY ARNOLD!!! DON'T SUE ME!!! (I don't have any money anyway so you wouldn't get much out of it if you did) 

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Return To Innocence

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"You don't like him very much, do you?" Helga asks, as she and I leave Charlie's house.

"Who?" 

"_Who_? Come on, Arnoldo… Charlie. You and he don't seem like you get along very well." she says, looking at me.

"No… we don't…" I say, as though I've had a realization.

"I still don't understand it… I mean, why did he ask that you work with us if he doesn't like you?"

"Well, I don't like him either!" I say, a bit too quickly.

"Calm down, there," she says sarcastically, "You know… it's kind of weird to hear you say that you don't like someone. I'm still used to the little boy who liked everyone…" she says quietly, almost speaking to herself.

"I'm not a little boy anymore," I say, looking at her staring at the floor as we walk.

"I didn't say you were." she replies quietly, sticking her hands in her pockets. "It's getting cold out," she comments absent-mindedly.

"Yeah, I saw on the news that it's going to be raining all the rest of this week." I reply, joining in her small talk.

"Listen," she says, and stops walking… now a block or so from Charlie's house.

"Yes?" I stop as well and wait for her speak. 

"I really appreciate you doing this project with me… with us. If it weren't for you I probably wouldn't be able to bring myself to go over there. There's something about that house… about that family I don't like. I just wanted to say… thanks." she looks down and blushes. 

"No problem." I say, trying to hide my smile of gratitude. I know that if she catches me smiling she'll give me hell for it. I can't ruin this perfectly beautiful moment like that. As I look at her, that question comes to mind again… what happened that day? I can't decide whether to just come out and ask her so I begin to wage an internal battle with myself. I look and look at her… as she stairs at her feet. Slowly she looks up at me and makes eye contact. I have to ask her.

"Helga?" I start, sounding worried. I grasp her hands with mine.

"What are you…?" she looks down at our hands, confused. 

"Will you tell me something?" I ask, and she continues to stare at me, "What happened that day I didn't come to Charlie's house?" she searches my eyes a few seconds longer then frowns, ripping her hands from mine and stepping back.

"_Nothing_ happened," she says, sounding unconvincing. She folds her arms and challenges me to ask further.

"I don't believe you." I say flatly, raising an eyebrow… my own way of 'meeting' her challenge.

"Well that's just too bad, isn't it?" she returns, sarcastically.

"Why was Charlie's father looking at you like that?" I bluntly come out and ask.

"Like what?" she asks innocently, with just a touch of uneasiness in her voice.

"You know what I mean!" I say, loudly. She looks surprised at me. Was I making too much of it? Was it not such a big deal?

"I don't know what you're talking about, got it!?" she glares at me, "I'll see you tomorrow," she says and turns to walk away, but I won't have it. I catch up to her and yet again grab onto her hands.

Pleadingly, this time, I say, "Tell me, please… what happened?"

"What's gotten into you?! Nothing happened!" she looks down to her hands, "Let go of me, who said you could touch me!?" she violently yanks free of my hold and walks by me. 

"Why won't you tell me?!" I yell after her, inadvertently gaining the attention of everyone on the street. She continues to walk, though, refusing to dignify my question. Why did I have to ask her like that? Couldn't I have asked her in a better way? I look around the street and see the people staring at me… but I don't care. I look up and see the gathering rain clouds. Reluctantly, I turn and being walking home, fearing I might get caught in rain storm.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Quietly, I sit in my room, listening to the pitter-patter of the rain on my skylight. With the _Lolita_ book, I sit reading at my desk… trying hard not to think about Helga and Charlie and all those other disturbing things. The book, today, isn't enough to capture my total attention and my mind begins to wander to Mr. Reiker and Charlie. I wonder if Reiker knows his son is a pedophile? Well, maybe he's not a pedophile, but he sure was looking at Helga strangely, I comment to myself.

Helga…

There was something different in my behavior towards her today… but why? I don't understand my sudden want to be with her… to want to protect her. It's just being a good friend, right? Who am I kidding? There's more to it than that… and what ever happened to Lila? I see her at school, but I don't really SEE her anymore. I haven't said anything to her since that morning at my locker a few days ago. I feel as though I've lost some sort of connection with her… because of this Charlie thing. It's Helga, it's her fault! I slam the _Lolita_ book closed. Wait, it's not Helga's fault… it's Charlie's! After all, he was the one who requested I join their little project! Angry, I stand up from my desk, turning off the small desk lamp… leaving my room illuminated periodically by the flashing lightning.

Wait, what am I doing? Why am I blaming everyone for my lost interest in someone? I'M the only one who can be blamed for that. I sigh and walk over to my bed, sitting down quietly. I hear the bed springs adjust to the new weight and I sink lower down into the bed. Something is off right now. I feel bad, I can't believe how I handled myself today with Helga. What was wrong with me? And so here I am… again thinking about Helga. That enigmatic girl just won't leave my thoughts! Damn it! And damn her! 

I go to Charlie's for_ her…_

I hate Charlie's father because he looks at_ her_…

I'm stuck in an English project, one not even for MY teacher, because I care about _her_…

Slowly, I begin to realize something. I sure do a lot for someone who claims she hates me… she doesn't hate me, I know she doesn't. I… 

There's a knock at my door. Caught off guard, I awkwardly call, "Come in?"

Slowly, the door creeks open… thinking it's Grandpa, I stay sitting on my bed and relax a bit more. My room has a dull , dark, grayness to it due to the rain and lack of indoor lighting. 

"…Arnold?" Helga's voice?

"Helga?!" I jump up from my relaxed position on the bed, "What are you doing here?" I ask, a little more quietly. She's drenched… head to toe. What did she do, forget her umbrella? Perhaps she came here on an impulse? For what?

"Listen to me, and listen good," she starts, sternly, closing my door quickly.

"You didn't answer my question," I quietly say, but she ignores me and goes on.

"You asked me what happened that day, right? I said nothing, nothing happened,"

"So you lied?" I ask, standing up from my bed and heading toward my closet to fetch a blanket or something for her… she must be freezing.

"No, that's just it! You don't seem to understand that I'm telling you the truth!" she says, frustrated.

"So wait, let me get this straight… you came all this way, in the rain… to tell me something you've already said?" I say, raising an eyebrow and walking over to her with an extra comforter.

"Yes… no!" she shakes her head, sending droplets of water about. "What I've been telling you is the truth, nothing happened, but Arnold, something COULD HAVE." she says, slumping her shoulders… as if it physically hurt her to tell me that. I unfold the quilt-like blanket and put it around her. She looks down, deliberately trying not to make eye-contact.

I look sympathetically at her and pull the blanket a little more firmly around her, "…so what could have happened?" I persist, selfishly, maybe.

"I… I went down to the kitchen to get a soda… Charlie said he had sodas… but he lied…" she said. This… doesn't feel right. She seems so out of character right now… I don't know what to do... It almost frightens me in a way. She speaks as if in a trance, eyes glued to her feet… 

her hair… 

…her usually beautiful blonde hair plastered to her face and neck, dripping still… making small, dark, droplet-stains on my carpet and on the bright yellow blanket. Isn't it kind of ironic that the blanket I wrap her in is so bright and yet her mood seems so dark?

"…So there wasn't any soda," she continues, "I figured, 'hey, while I'm down here I might as well get something to eat'.. so I searched the cabinets and fridge… then I heard someone come into the kitchen," she pauses and looks me in the eye for the first time since she entered my room unexpectedly. She looks at me in silence for several moments… or for what seems as long, then continues, "it was that lunatic… Charlie's father. He tried to make small talk… I said I just came for food, but he continued to try and talk to me anyway. He asked why you weren't there… where you were… I didn't know what to say so I just said that you were sick at home." she looks down again. I feel a pang of guilt hit me and I find that I can't look at her. Instead, I look to the floor. "He said that he had something to show me," she starts again, this time with more conviction in her voice. She moves away from me and walks over to my bed and stands before it. She stares up at my skylight… probably feeling it to be more comforting than my questionable stare at her. "I didn't, for once," she hollowly laughs at this, "think it was necessary to be mean to the guy so I said 'ok, fine, show me.' he said it was in his room." she stops and looks down to my bed. The lightning strikes, illuminating the room as if it were day-time for a moment. "I said, 'whatever it is you wanna show me, buddy, you can show me right here.'" I mentally smile at this, grateful that she wasn't as naïve as some girls… who might have gone with the man to his room and been horrifically surprised.

"So what happened?" I ask, taking a step to her.

"He said 'No, you have to see it in my room,' so I told him 'Well, in that case, forget it.' and tried to walk out of the kitchen but he stopped me at the door saying something about how I agreed to it so now I have to go," she shakes her head, "what ever he said, it didn't make much sense and I tried to move past him. He didn't let me go." she hollowly laughs again and says, "But I faked him out and was able to run past him up the stairs. I got to Charlie's room and…" she stops. "…Can I just stop there for now?" she quietly asks, turning to face me. Lightning strikes again, lighting up her face… showing me her expression of defeat and sorrow.

"Uh… yeah, of course." I say and quickly walk to her. "Here, sit down, sit." I insist and she and I sit down on my bed. 

"…So what do you think?" she asks, after a long pause.

"What am I supposed to think?" I ask in return. Then, feeling as though my response was a little short, add, "How are you?"

"I'm ok, it's nothing big," she lies, "but if you tell anyone about this, football head… I'll have to hurt you, you know that." she looks at me and half smiles. 

I relax a bit at that smile… that sad, enigmatic smile of hers… 

"Thanks for listening…" she says softly and pulls the blanket tighter around her. 

"Anytime," I say, equally quietly. There's another pause as she slowly looks at me again. There's this urge, this need to be around her right now… it all seems so unreal… Helga Pataki sitting, rain-drenched, on my bed… she opened her heart somewhat to me and I feel nothing but warmth from that scarce occurrence. The light, reflecting off of the water cascading down the skylight, dances across her face… illuminating that sort of sad beauty she posses at the moment. 

My eyes… 

…they can't focus purely on hers… they keep shifting… from eyes to… 

lips… 

…eyes, to lips… 

I fear suddenly that I might do something inappropriate… I'm only a kid, I rationalize, I can't harbor such thoughts about her… such… inappropriate thoughts… I can't kiss her, it wouldn't be right. Somehow I fear that I'll be taking advantage of her… I don't even know how she feels at the moment… what kind of person would I be to try something like that after hearing of her harassment by _the father_? I feel disappointed in myself and look away… 

It's too much…

Her eyes…

Looking at me… suddenly it all makes sense… my protectiveness of her, my caring for her. You know that saying, 'actions speak louder than words'? Well, it seems clear what my actions have been saying…

I don't believe this… could I love Helga G. Pataki?

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Ok, finally to the romance… it's corny, I know, but I always pictured Arnold's romances to be corny anyway… in the adorable, 'aw, how sweet', sort of way ;D

I really wanna know what you all think of this, so please, tell me :D


	12. The Eyes of Truth

I DO NOT OWN HEY ARNOLD!!! DON'T SUE ME!!! (I don't have any money anyway so you wouldn't get much out of it if you did) 

****

Return To Innocence

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

I hear my alarm clock go off… but I can't--no, I refuse--to roll over and turn it off. I don't want to get up, and a part of me thinks that maybe if I don't turn it off, time will stay frozen on 7 AM. No, that's not being realistic, though. Against my own wishes, I lazily turn off the obnoxious alarm… and lay staring up through my skylight. It's not a very bright day… in fact, it's so gloomy it's almost as if mother nature it trying to say something… it's like an omen, some sort of foreboding… telling me--no ordering me--to stay in bed… not to tread into the outside world.

There's a knock at my door. Distinctive, and loud. 

"Hey, short man, it's 7, you awake yet?" Grandpa asks. What if I just don't answer him? What if I stay here, pretending to be asleep? What then? But no… I can't do that, so I mumble my usual reply, "Ok, see ya' downstairs for breakfast, then." he says, absently, with a chuckle.

School awaits me, I know… but… but I keep running excuses through my head why I can't go, why I can't get up. 

I can't go to school like this… how I am. I'm all mixed up inside… confused… yet relieved… yet this gut-wrenching feeling still threatens to strangle my heart… what is this? How can one feeling _feel _so wonderful yet so horrible at the same time? Is there a name for such a burden? I sure hope so, I can't stand to feel this way for another day straight… but is there anything I can do about it, _really_? I'm doomed aren't I…?

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

"Hey, man… you look… what's wrong?" Gerald asks, as I meet up with him at the bus stop. He eyes me strangely, as if he's trying to figure it out for himself before I answer. He'll never figure it out, though, that's safe to say. No one could possibly know… do I, even? I could take a guess, and it would probably be right, but do I want to admit it?

"I'm… fine." I say, slowly… obviously unsure of myself.

"Liar. Come on, what's up?" Gerald persists. The bus arrives and I contemplate not getting on. To go to school would mean going to Charlie's, would it not? But I have to go to Charlie's… for _her_. I can't skip out… no… however uncomfortable I feel, it means nothing when I think about what could happen if I choose not to go. What if I'm overreacting, though? 

"Nothing's wrong, I'm just… I'm tired… you know, the usual… not enough sleep." I weakly smile. He narrows his eyes, but drops the subject anyway… for my sake, no doubt. Perhaps he realizes that asking further will get him nowhere.

__

Oh, the irony…

The same _type _of persisting questions I pestered _her_ with… the "What happened"s and "please tell me"s… the frustration in her eyes…

Now, Gerald asking me what's wrong… I feel the same kind of frustration _she_ did… I finally understand how hard it was for her to tell me _anything_. So I stand defiant under this pressure to tell, although I may have resented Helga for a moment for refusing to crack under my questioning. The casual observer might point out the irony here… or perhaps the inconsistency? the fact that I, above everyone, should understand Gerald's desire to know… his desire to help me with what ever brings me down… but I don't.

Or perhaps simply refuse to.

"Hey, Gerald, Arnold." greets Phoebe as she just arrives at the bus stop… alone. It's so unlike her to be almost late for the bus. I look at her questionably for a moment, and without my needing to ask, she answers, "Oh, I know," she blushes and walks over to the bus as the doors open, "I was over at Helga's, it seems she's caught a bit of a cold. Not contagious, though, I'm sure." she says and walks up the steps and over to a bus seat, sitting herself down quietly.

"Really?" I question, following her and sitting down in the bus seat across from her, "I saw her yesterday, she seemed fine to me." I say, almost defiantly.

"Yes, I know. It _seems _as though it's merely a 24-hour bug… or perhaps this is the start of a new cold?" she asks. For some odd reason I'm fixated on what she said… _she knows_… She knows what? …that she was fine? That she came to my house? …that she told me everything… well, almost…

"So… she's gonna be out all day, then?" Gerald asks, uncomfortably. Chats with Phoebe are a rare occurrence… especially since his fling with Roxanne started. Phoebe must see it too… that _something_ about the girl that isn't pleasant… that _something_ that just makes her an annoyance. I look at my humble best friend and see the insecurity in his eyes… the uneasiness in his manor. I see him becoming more and more uncomfortable in her presence.

"Yes, most certainly." Phoebe answers, adjusting her glasses.

"Hey, this your lucky day, man!" Gerald says, excitedly patting me on the back. Overcompensation? His enthusiasm his clearly overdone.

"Why is that?" I ask, gaining my composure back. I look to Phoebe in the next bus seat and see… that same uneasiness in _her_ eyes… the eyes of sophistication and wisdom.

"'Cause, man… with Helga home sick you're off the hook!" he smiles, "Don't you get it? With Helga gone you're not _obligated _to go to Charlie's house." he says, slyly, nudging my side. "Wow, you've been with that guy almost everyday after school," _almost_ being the key word to me, "how does it feel to know you can go home today and not have to think about the guy for once?"

I smile half-heartedly, "Pretty good."

"Hmm, yes. Helga sends her apologies for not being able to work on the project." Phoebe interjects, before Gerald can say anything further.

"Really? Somehow I get the feeling she didn't word it quite like that…" Gerald comments. "So, Phoebe, how have you been?" he smoothly asks her… covering completely for his insecurity... Well, almost.

"Quiet pleasant, actually. Last week I…" Phoebe trials off, but somehow I feel that it's no longer needed for me to listen to them. Instead, I stare out the bus window at the cloudy sky… rain, however beautiful, almost always brings drama along with it… like last night…

Suddenly, the thought of the night before brings an uneasy smile to my face. Helga isn't sick, I know she isn't. why is she staying home? Is it because of me? Is it because of how I acted last night? I was inappropriate wasn't I… she's not an idiot, she probably saw the way I looked at her… how sick is that? Listening to her tell her horrific, however uneventful _really_, story… and the thing foremost in my mind is… kissing her. Right then, and there… all rain-soaked, and flushed from her rush in the rain to my little boarding house.

"Hey Arnold!" …and I'm broken from my train of thought.

"Huh?" I look around the bus, almost looking as if I'm in a trance.

"We gotta get to class, buddy… come on," Gerald says, looking at me almost sympathetically. I nod and, after taking one last look around at the empty seats, follow Gerald off the bus.

Lunch, to my surprising dismay, came early today... Or at least it feels that way. Not that I don't want to go to lunch, I just don't seem to have the appetite I usually do… and haven't for a while, I realize. Again, just like everyday, I find Gerald sitting at our usual spot… _Roxanne _by his side. …that annoyingly superficial girl I just don't understand… nor do I want to.

"Hey," I say, sounding exasperated.

"Hey, man," Gerald says, not really paying attention. He sits closely to Roxanne… touching her cheek… slowly, softly… the two of them looking at each other as if they were in love or something. Ha! How could he be in love with _her_? He's not… he wouldn't…

I sit down nosily, half-hoping I'd disrupt they're little lovey-dovey thing.

"Hi, Arnold," the girl speaks to me.

"Hello Roxanne," I say. Outwardly, I wear an obviously fake smile… Inwardly, I'm gagging at the site of her sloppily chewing her gum and, yet again, taping her finely manicured nails on the plastic surface of the lunch table. Hasn't she heard of _manors_?

Gerald looks over to me and frowns. 

"Is something wrong?" Roxanne asks, almost irritably.

"Nothing at all." I say, continuing this charade.

"Oh, well… I could have sworn you had something up your ass," she comments, giving me a challenging look. The vulgarity of her statement startles me at first, but I slowly sink into a challenging look of my own.

"What?" I finally ask, as she won't stop staring at me.

"Can I talk to you… _alone_… for a minute?" Gerald asks, standing up abruptly from his seat.

I look questionably at him for a moment, then snap out of it, "Oh, sure."

He looks once more at Roxanne, then walks heatedly toward the doors of the cafeteria… without even looking back to see if I'm indeed following him. He walks outside and over to a large, dead-looking, tree and stops. He turns to face me, angry… upset about something…

"What's wrong?" I ask, almost sounding surprised. 

"_What's wrong?_" he repeats, incredulously, "I'll tell you what's wrong! You treat that girl like crap!" he yells. 

I stand there, stupidly wide-eyed, with no answer. I am treating her badly, aren't I? Why? God, what do I really have against her?! Scrambling for an explanation I quickly reply, "I thought you were ok that I didn't like her?"

"Well I'm not. I'm… not." he looks sadly at me.

"I thought that it was ok that I had my own opinions about people, Gerald," I say, almost quoting him on an early conversation between the two of us.

"I didn't say you couldn't have your own opinions… I just…" he takes a deep breath, "Why do you have to be so damn judgmental with her!"

Again, I can't answer… for I don't know, myself, what the answer is. I stand speechless… watching as frustration and anger work themselves into little creases in his forehead and around his brow.

He sighs, "You've changed, Arnold." he says shaking his head.

This upsets me, "Why? Because I form opinions about people now?" I blurt out, using that same excuse.

"No, because you disliked her without even giving her a chance!" he says, and I, although I stand opposing him, can't help but see the validity of his point.

I open my mouth to say something, but I can't… I don't know what to say…

"You're killing me, Arnold…" he continues, turning away from me, "You and everyone else seem to have this preconceived idea that I belong with Phoebe. It's not like that, it just isn't, and the sooner you realize that, the better."

"No one mentioned Phoebe." I point out.

"Do you really have to? I know you, I know what you guys are thinking." he hangs his head. 

Softly I begin, "You think that's why I dislike her?"

"Probably." he says, still facing away from me, "That's why you guys have disliked all my other girlfriends, right?"

I frown, shaking my head, "It's your own conscience that's killing you, Gerald, not me." With that, I turn and walk in the opposite direction. Something was off in Gerald… something I think that maybe he should deal with on his own.

I need to some time alone, so I decide to sit by self in the back of the school-yard. As I turn the corner of the cafeteria, I see _him_. Charlie Reiker, stealing my idea before I even have a chance to go forth with it. He sits alone… staring intently at the cloud-covered sky. He looks at ease, yet sad at the same time and I can't help but feel a little sorry for him. 

I walk over and sit down, slowly, next to him. He turns slowly to me, not alarmed at all as to why I suddenly came to join him. "It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" he asks, lowly, and somewhat nonchalantly.

"Yes, it's really nice." a cold breeze sweeps by us, and I turn to look at him. He's returned his attention to the sky, but has closed his eyes. The wind, icy and chilling and as uncomfortable as it may be, is pleasant to this Charlie Reiker. He, letting it comb through his messy awkward hair, seemingly happy.

"So what are you doing here?" he finally asks, questioning me with something I'm not sure I can answer.

"I needed some ME time," I say, in a not-quite-serious manor.

He says nothing, though, failing to see the humor in my statement.

"Where's Helga?" he asks, seriously.

"At home, or so Phoebe says," I reply, joining his gaze at the clouds.

"Do you know why?" he persists.

"She's sick." I say, almost jealous that he cares.

"I see. Are you coming after school, or is it safe to say that you won't because you now have no one to hide behind?" he asks, lowly.

"Excuse me?" I look at him, questionably.

"I asked if you were coming," he repeats, and I begin to think I imagined the last part of what he said. Did I? Is my mind playing tricks on me now? Is this some kind of self-punishment for being so judgmental with Roxanne?

"I'm not sure… I think I'm going to go visit Helga." I say before I have a chance to think about it clearly.

"That's ok… I think I need some ME time anyway…" he says and looks directly at me. He smiles a bit… I think for the first time since I've known him. I feel strangely satisfied that he got my earlier 'joke' and turned around and used it on me. I'm just simply happy that we finally 'connected' with something.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

I stand motionless in front of Helga's stoop… really not sure whether I should go in or not. I did say I was going to visit her… and curiosity IS getting the best of me, but… what will she say when she sees me? I'm almost certain her absence has SOMETHING to do with me, so why should I make it worse for her? I grit me teeth… Excuses, excuses! I mentally shout. Just go in, I almost order myself. I begin to walk up the stoop then stop. Suddenly the thought of Big Bob answering the door scares me. I back down from the stoop and stand thinking again. I look up at her house…

…and see how it stands out from the rest as an almost bright blue color. I find it funny and almost fitting that this unique house holds one of the most unique people I know. Coincidence? 

What if she's upset when she sees me? Wait, when is she NOT upset when she sees me… damn it! Here I go again with the excuses…

I take a deep breath and walk briskly up the steps of the stoop to her front door. I shakily bring my hand up to the doorbell and press it hard, fighting the urge to run away as I wait for someone to answer me.

No one.

No one's answering.

Suddenly a frightening thought pops into my head. What if she's really sick like Phoebe said? What if no one's home with her and she passed out or something? I now stand frantically waiting for someone to show up at the door. 

I hear someone fiddling with the lock and I feel a little better. It opens slightly, "Who's there?" 

Well, she certainly SOUNDS fine. I don't answer yet, somehow finding it hard to.

"Well?!" she yells opening the door more. When she sees it's me she gasps and closes the door more, "_You_?! What are you doing here?! Didn't Phoebe tell you I was sick?!" she yells frantically. She forces her self to cough, sounding extremely fake. "See, I'm sick, sick as a dog… now, get out of here!" she says.

"Save it," I say, flatly, "I know you're not sick," I now know my suspensions were, in fact, true.

She says nothing.

"Can I come in?" I ask, placing my hand on her door and pushing it open slightly.

"Eh, why not… my big secret's out anyway," she says sarcastically and moves away from the door. I push it open and walk into her house, closing the door quietly behind me.

She walks to her stairs and pauses at the bottom step just before sneezing loudly.

"Bless you," I say and move to follow her.

"You know, I wasn't _completely _lying. I think I DID catch something yesterday… walking all that way in the rain." she says, walking up her stairs. "So, what's up, football head? Angry that I can't come with ya' to Charlie's?" 

"No, I'm not going today, anyway." I reply following her to her room. I look around her house… at the walls… at the tables… and can't help but see pictures of her sister Olga everywhere. Her family, if it can be called that, angers me almost as much as Charlie's. in Charlie's case, it upsets me that his family would let him live with a father like that… without trying in the least to get him into a better home. But in Helga's case, it angers me that her family believes her to be invisible. They don't seem to care at all… except for Olga, who seems to give Helga too much attention sometimes, and one can't help but wonder if she compensating for her parents lack of affection.

"So, what did I miss today at school?" she asks, almost sounding as if she were a child in early elementary school again. 

"Not much. Gerald and I had a disagreement," I say, then pause and wonder why I told her that. She doesn't really care, does she?

"Really?" she raises an eyebrow, "It's not everyday that tall hair boy and you get into a fight."

"It wasn't a fight," I correct her.

"Whatever, you guys still argued." she says and walks over to sit on her bed.

"Yeah but…" she looks at me again, "Ok, so we DID have a fight. He says I've changed."

"You have," she confirms and begins to stare out her window.

"_Great_, _you _think I've changed… _he _thinks I've changed… what have I become, then?" I ask, frustrated.

"I don't know, football head… different." she says, as though she could care less.

Things go silent as I stare at her. She doesn't seem to notice my gaze as she stares longingly out her window. Her hair, in childish pigtails, looks neat now… nothing like the wet mess it was last night. She sits there, unmoved, wearing an over-sized t-shit and pants… trying not to look feminine in the least, and yet she looks…

"Isn't this weather great?" she asks, without looking at me.

I smile… looking at her… and reply, "Beautiful…"

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Wow, there was a lot of dialog in this chapter, but I hope you guys liked it anyway. I'll be getting the next chapter out kind of soon because it's kind of like a second part to this one. 


	13. Endless Quest

I DO NOT OWN HEY ARNOLD!!! DON'T SUE ME!!! (I don't have any money anyway so you wouldn't get much out of it if you did) 

****

Return To Innocence

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

"So is there a _reason _you've come here? Or are you TRYING to make my life miserable with your presence?" she asks, trying to sound threatening… trying to sound like my child-hood bully again.

"I came to see if you were ok, although I don't know _why_," I say sarcastically with a sigh.

"I'm fine, obviously… but you knew that." she says and tears her eyes away from her window, finally, to look at me.

"Yes," I confirm.

"So why are you here?" she reiterates.

"Phoebe said you were sick. I didn't believe her," I shake my head, "so I wanted to come see for myself WHY you decided to stay home and also not go to Charlie's." 

"I see." she looks back out through her window.

"Yeah, so why did you stay home?" I ask, folding my arms. Confidence is slowly seeping into me as I stand before her.

"Just wanted to is all," she says, sounding unconvincing.

"Right," I begin walking to her. "Can I ask you something?"

"Ugh! Not this again," she huffs, rolling her eyes with a mixture of comic disgust and resignation.

Her groan goes undignified as I sit myself down on her bed.

"Ok, so what do you wanna know, hair boy?" she asks, falling into an 'absent minded' stare at the sky.

"Why did you _really _stay home?" I repeat, leaning dangerously close to her. She looks at me with a kind of terror in her eyes, but then 'relaxes' into a sort of uncomfortable staring game with me.

"_None _of your business," she raises her eyebrows, "got it?" She sits, inches from me, challenging me in a way I'm not sure I understand at the moment. She looks at me… not really AT me, but in a way that is unsettling. Almost as if she's looking straight through me. Suddenly she mistakenly, I assume, makes eye contact. This strange event brings a sort of intimacy to the situation that neither of us expects, or wants. Her eyes dart around, looking, searching, for somewhere to rest, but to no avail. 

I smile almost sadistically at her, "What's wrong?"

"Why are you so close to me?!" she growls, and tries to move back. It's then I realize how close indeed I was. I blush, gulp, and move back uncomfortably. An almost innocent blush creeps onto her cheeks as she pulls at the hem of her shirt, drawing her knees to her chest. "Now," she starts, "For the last time, are you going to tell me why you're here?"

"I told you why," I say, laying my weight on my palm as I lean toward her. My body still refuses to back away from this girl! It must be some sort of gravitational force, I muse, laughing inwardly at my own observation.

"Well I don't believe you," she says in a neural tone that hurts me so. Something in her eyes… those beautiful eyes that had just made contact with mine… tells me there's an underlying meaning in her comment, whatever that _meaning _may be.

"Well, I don't believe _you _either. I'd say we're even." I reply, looking out through her window. There's this sudden, unintended, understanding between the two of us at those words, and she simply sighs loudly and rejoins my gaze.

"Arnold, do you ever wonder why Charlie's… you know, the way he is?" she asks, in a seriously-friendly manor that surprises me at first… coming from her.

"Yeah, but I worry more about that _father _than anything else," I reply, leaning closer to this enigma sitting uncomfortably next to me. 

She says nothing.

The lighting in the room dims slightly from the quick arrival of evening. It's beautiful… As the sun fights one last time for a break in the sea of clouds, rays of light pass through, illuminating certain things… darkening others. Suddenly, without proper warning, the sun is gone. Hidden somewhere below the horizon. Now, something strange has happened. The once distinctly bright and dark things have blended. Perhaps I'm reading too much into this, but I can't help but see a certain message come through with what's happening. It's almost as if the lines between light and dark--good and evil--are becoming almost nonexistent. The sky as a whole has become one blended color. Not quite dark enough for night. Not quite light enough for day. The blurred lines between seem to be something ominous. 

"It's getting dark," she says, stating the obvious. She pushes a few loose strands of hair behind her ear and continues to stare out her window. I laugh inwardly at our lack of conversation. How, suddenly, the sky is _so _interesting. "Well, this is stupid," she starts, standing up from the bed abruptly. Her sudden change makes me immediately interested in what she's going to say.

"What is?"

"_This_! I mean, sweet Jesus, what's so damn interesting about what's outside my window?" she almost yells, walking to her door. I smile, finding it funny that I was just thinking about that exact same thing.

"Where are you going?" I ask, getting up instantly.

"_I'm _not going anywhere, _you_'regoing home." she says, opening her door and leaning against it's frame. She taps her foot irritably as she waits, cross-armed, for me to follow her to the door.

"Why?" I quickly ask, shortly thereafter receiving a funny look from her. 

"Yeah, football head. _This _is _just _what I need, Big Bob coming home to find that I was alone in the house with Alfred."

I suddenly want to ask her if he'd really care, but I don't. it's mean and inappropriate, and what right do I have to question her about her family like that? She stands, irritated and angry, impatiently waiting… yet no matter how hostile she tries to seem, or how intimidating she tries to be, I can't see it, and she knows that. The funny thing about this is that only makes her angrier.

"What are you waiting for?!" she scolds, and I find that I haven't moved an inch. I'm just standing there, motionless, finding it hard to move. Slowly, but surely, I regain the use of my legs and walk to her. For the hopelessly poignant thing to me is not my having to leave this room, this house, this place… but, instead, simply having to leave _her_. Maybe everyone's right… maybe something _has _changed in me.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

I get home shortly after leaving Helga's and find myself thinking not only about her, but about Charlie, and Gerald, and Mr. Reiker, and, to my surprise, Roxanne, even. I pass by the living room quickly, afraid I might get caught up in another conversation with Mr. Potts and Grandpa about the unknown predator attacking young girls in our humble little city. Something I think, quite frankly, is hard for me to accept, let alone something I want to hear about. Grandma is the only one whom I announce my presence to as I begin my quick ascent up the stairs. Upon reaching my room, I recklessly toss my backpack to the floor, and--what's this? That _Lolita_ book has fallen out of the book bag and lays on the floor before me. Should I read it now? I look down at the piece of (somewhat) obscene literature and contemplate my next move. I still DO need to be prepared for this project with Helga and Charlie, and it _would _be nonsensical for me to have the book in my possession and not read it. I slowly kneel down to it. Yes, reading it would be good.

With the book, I walk back to my desk and plop myself down into my seat. Eagerly, I flip through it to find the last place I left off. 

Again, I begin to read…

__

Lolita. There's something about this book, about this story, that just draws me in. Reading about this pathetic Humbert Humbert character who hopelessly, in a doomed passion, desires little Dolores Haze… little _Lolita_, _His Lolita_, as he calls her… makes me think endlessly about _the father_. Charlie's father to be exact. A man who, if I were given the simple task of describing in as few words as possible, would be called something of a pedophile. I've never seen him do anything _really_, and I've never _really _seen his 'tendencies' to look at little girls other than the incident with Helga , but still… something about him, that man, makes me angry. Unjustly? I feel, strangely, as if I have to protect people from him when, do I really have just cause to feel that way? But then again, is my own intuition not enough? Something is happening to me, something that makes me both angry and relieved at the same time. I've never tried to judge anyone based on some _outside _trait, like Roxanne's excessive gum chewing and Charlie's father's 'rough' appearance (dirty, I could even say), but now it seems that I've been doing this almost _too much_. On the other hand, I feel almost happy… happy that, for once, I'm able to hold opinions about people. The fact that these opinions are perhaps rude only makes me feel _better, _oddly. I must sound like a mad man, but please understand… all my life up until now, I've had to be the neutral one. The one who likes everyone. The one who _cares _about everyone. I'm only human though, you can't possibly expect me (or anyone else for that matter) to like everyone, right? …Right?

Right.

As I put the _Lolita _book away and get ready for bed, I can't help but think back to my earlier encounter with Charlie. His nonchalant attitude and careless way reminds me so much of how I was as a young boy. The way he sat in the freezing cold, letting the wind comb through his rough hair... Somehow I feel a little animosity toward this 'free sprit'. Jealousy even. Oh, how I wish I could be that way again! …so care free… But, shamefully, I realize that maybe that's his only outlet? Perhaps his home life is so terrible that his only means of escape is sitting alone with his thoughts and letting the autumn breeze move swiftly through his un-kept hair?

Guilty about my earlier ill-thoughts of jealousy towards the poor kid, I slide into bed and soon after fall into a toss-and-turn-filled sleep. 

My dreams, lately, have been almost nothing but a tribute to Charlie and his sad home life. It's always the same one. I see him, in my dream, walking away from me through a never ending hallway. Like an endless quest I chase after him, but always fail. He never walks faster, or slower, he simply walks at the same casual-paced rate yet poor Arnold can't catch up. I call, scream, yell… but he ignores me and continues on his mysterious way. Then I see his father standing patronizingly at the end of this seemingly endless hallway. He smiles, that same sadistic smile I saw him with that day… of course you know what _day _I speak of. He then looks at me with a mixture of sympathy and disgust. Ha! It is _I_ who should pity _him_, not the other way around, yet it isn't so. Charlie seems to be walking toward his father, head hung, and shoulders hunched, as if he were walking straight into his own demise. This puzzles me, because when I see Charlie's (however rare) interaction with his father, I see him being the strong one. The one who 'calls the shots'. In my dream though, it's the father who seems to be controlling the son. And so the father stands waiting for him, taunting his son in a way…

Suddenly, Charlie will stop. He doesn't make a move and it is always me who breaks the disturbingly fitting silence.

"Why are you doing this?" is my one burning question for this odd boy.

It will go unanswered.

Instead, he turns to face me… eyes weary and warm… something I don't think I've ever seen from him yet. He opens his mouth to say something, and then…

__

Darkness…

__

Bleakness…

__

Loneliness…

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

You know what's funny? The fact that I said I would be updating soon, yet it took me this long (yeah, I know it isn't very long, it just felt that way to me). Anyway, I hope you guys like this chapter, even though it didn't have much mushy stuff in it ;D. Just to warn you guys out there who didn't see this the first time… _I hope that if you're reading this you have an open mind and are mature enough to handle the subject matter_.

Hehe, I hate sounding like someone's mother, but you know… I just want to make sure you guys understand this because in one of the upcoming chapters I'm going to have to get a little more adult. That's all I'm going to say about that, but I bet you all can figure out what I mean ;)


	14. Age Of Loneliness

I DO NOT OWN HEY ARNOLD!!! DON'T SUE ME!!! (I don't have any money anyway so you wouldn't get much out of it if you did) 

****

Return To Innocence

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

"Hello, Arnold," Grandma greets, actually using my God-given name for once. She walks about in the kitchen, clearing the table, washing some dirty dishes. Funny, at a glance you wouldn't necessarily recognize her as my grandmother. Here, now… she almost seems normal. "Can I make you some green tea?" she offers, glancing briefly at me standing in the doorway.

"No thank you, Grandma," she nods. Returning to her chores, she hums while rinsing some dirty plates in the sink. I used to love to listen to grandma sing. Her voice always seemed to sooth me… or, when the time called for it, it could cheer me up as well.

Everything seems quite, a rare occurrence in my little boarding house. "Where's Grandpa?" I ask, walking over to the refrigerator to get a glass of milk.

"In the living room. Must be watching his stories again," she winks. "Hand me that dish towel will you, Arnold?" 

Putting my glass down, I walk over to the counter to fetch the floral-printed towel. Old and dingy-looking, it is, but it still seems to be a favorite. Handing it to her, I frown a little, "Are you feeling alright?"

Before she can say anything, Grandpa walks in with a dirty plate, placing it in the sink, "Oh hey, short man, back home from school so soon? I thought you were supposed to see that Charlie fellow." he says, taking a seat at the table.

"I _was_," I reply, joining him with my glass of milk.

"So why didn't you go?" 

"Well, Helga said that she wasn't going to go after school today so I figured that I wouldn't go either."

"So? Just because your little friend can't go doesn't mean you shouldn't go too." he replies with a wink. He's right, I should be at Charlie's right now. Ever since Helga stayed home from school a few days ago she's been skipping out on Charlie. After the day she stayed home, the next day she went to school but complained of having to go shopping with Miriam that afternoon. Then the next day she went to Charlie's, but left early saying that Big Bob needed her for something. Today, she told me at lunch that she wouldn't be going after school because of an unusual amount of homework in her other classes. I don't know what's going on exactly, but I'm beginning to think that she's lying to get out of going to Charlie's.

Poor Charlie…

Why is it that people are always trying to get away from him when it's his father that is to blame for that? I wish I could tell Charlie how I feel about the whole thing… but what would he say? That he understands? That he doesn't blame her? Yeah, sure… he'll _completely _understand that we think his father is a pedophile! 

Feeling badly for my own cowardice, I conclude that the best thing would be to go over to his house… _alone_. It will be hard, but I have to for Charlie's sake. He doesn't deserve people's avoidance of him, does he?

Upon reaching the Reiker residence, I knock twice on the old decrepit door and wait patiently. After all, I'm in no hurry to get inside. I look around the streets and see very few people. Seeing as though I waited longer to come, the rush of children to get home has dissipated. The sky has started to change, becoming a bright orange color, pretty, but hard on the eyes. Curse the weather for ridding the sky of the beautiful rain clouds! Oh well, all good things must come to an end, right?

"Arnold?" Charlie says, surprised. 

Startled, not realizing the door had been opened, I search for something to say. "Oh, hey, Charlie."

"What are you doing here?" he inquires, raising an eyebrow.

"What do you mean, 'what am I doing here?' I'm here for the project." I say as if his question had no grounds.

"Well, I just figured you weren't coming today, seeing as though Helga said she had to go straight home. Why are you here? Usually, when Helga says she's not coming, you don't come either." he states, folding his arms. 

"Yeah, well…" I blush from embarrassment, "I'm here, aren't I? Let's get to work." I smile guiltily.

"Ok," he sighs with resignation, "Whatever you say…"

He leads me into the house quickly, probably not wanting his father to know I'm here. Any other person, under the same circumstances, would probably think this odd… but for me, who already knows Charlie's father, I think it's nothing if not appropriate. Quickly, we go up the stairs; quickly, we walk to his door; and quickly, we are inside. He closes the door and almost looks relieved.

"So, what are we working on, today?" I ask, breaking the silence.

"Well," he begins walking over to a pile of papers on the floor, "before you came, I was working on Humbert's character sketch. I'm trying to decide whether or not to include his tendencies to control little Dolores' social life."

"I think you should put it in. I mean, the guy was basically saying she could have friends, but not of the opposite sex. But then again, can you blame him? He was worried she'd find some young guy to like." Charlie smiles.

"I see you've been doing your homework." he sits down in front of the papers. "That book I lent you seems to be doing you a lot of good," he says, looking through the papers.

"Yeah, actually it is. Hey, why do you like that book so much anyway?" I question, sitting down on his bed.

He somewhat chuckles, "Well, this is going to sound odd, but I like it because I can relate to it. Not me personally, but things in my life seem to parallel things and situations in the novel." he says, then adds "Plus, it's just a really interesting book,"

"Really? Yeah, maybe it IS odd, but I really like the story too… for some strange reason." I sit back on the bed and rest up against his headboard. "So anyway, are you going to add that thing about the friends in the character sketch?"

"Probably. So, Arnold, what do your friends think of you doing a project on _Lolita_?" he asks with a bit of humor. 

Relaxing a little more, I reply, "Well, they're ok with it, I guess. I don't think any of them really know the story, but a few of them have heard of it. What about you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, what do your friends think of you doing the project on _Lolita_?"

"Friends? I haven't had _friends _since 5th grade." he says, somewhat distastefully. I suddenly feel badly for asking. He must be lonely…

"Why then?" I ask, sitting up to listen.

He sighs, then looks down for a second. After a few minutes of silence he returns his attention to me. "Why then?" he repeats, "See, I used to have friends… like you," he looks directly to me, "and everyone else does. In fact, I even had a best friend, like most _normal _people." he smiles, sort of, recalling the memory.

"Really?" I scoot to the edge of the bed to pay more attention to this story of his.

"Yep. Hell, I used to have friends over at my house every day!" he laughs sort of and I join him, "But… that was a long time ago. Back when I had a mother _everything _was different." he looks down.

"If… you don't mind me asking, what happened to her?" I lean closer to him, cradling my chin in the palms of my hands. This is something, I realize, that I _must _hear.

"She died of cancer. It's no big deal," he obviously lies, shrugging his broad shoulders.

"Oh," I avert my eyes from his for a moment, letting the new information process in my head before I go on. "When?" I blurt before thinking about it clearly.

"When I was…" he looks around, trying to look as if he has to think about it. I may be considered dense by some, but even I know that if something like that happened… the person would remember the exact day, hour, and minute they found out the terrible news. "When I was about 8. Yes, that's it, I was in 3rd grade when it happened. I knew she was sick, I knew that because of the _kind _of sickness she had she wouldn't live long," he stands up, "people had been 'breaking it to me slowly' for as long as I can remember. See, one day I came home from school and my whole family was at the house. My uncle Charles," must be where Charlie got his name from, "said that, 'your momma's with the angels now,' and I knew exactly what he meant."

"Was it hard for you?" well, obviously.

"Yeah… yeah, but I got over it. I mean, life goes on, right? Dad on the other hand… well, he didn't deal with it at all. He drank, neglected me and everyone else around him, and slept off the years after her death. Eventually, he became that hermit he is today. I don't know, but for some reason, I don't think her death really bothered him anyway. He was probably just angry that he had to now take care of me by himself."

"I see…" I watch as he walks back to his book shelf to face away from me. Suddenly I remember the subject of our original discussion, "So, Charlie, why is it that you haven't had friends since 5th grade?" embarrassed, myself, by the question, I look down.

"Oh, yes…" he says, "Well, remember how I told you I had a best friend?"

"Yes," 

"Well, see… she and I were always together. We were like brother and sister, or something along that line. Everyday, after school, she'd come with me over here… to _this _house. I loved it." he still faces away from me, but hangs his head slightly. Suddenly, there's a change in the tone of his voice, something almost resentful and angry, "Slowly, I started to notice something different about my _dad_. He'd start hanging out with the two of us, although she'd strongly, at least to me, object to it. She started being afraid to come over to my house, and soon her familiar, routine, visits stopped." he glances back to me and takes a deep breath before continuing, "I found something out. Well, I was never sure if what I thought was real or not, but I believe it more now than I ever did."

"What exactly did you find out?" I question, literally on the edge of my seat.

After hesitating he begins again, "I found out that my _father_," again he emphasizes the name with distaste, "had taken a… _liking _to my little friend. I'm not stupid, I saw the way he looked at her, the way he smiled at her…" he trails off and looks back to his book case.

"What happened to her?"

"She stopped coming by to see me, eventually she stopped talking to me… along with everyone else I knew. I'm sure she told everyone what my dad thought of her, and as much as it hurt me, I can't say I blame her for it." he sighs again, "I'm almost absolutely sure that… my father loved her, or at least liked her. Not as a parental figure… I mean, he _loved _her… in a way you're not supposed to love a kid, I guess. She of only 11 years."

"Charlie!" I exclaim, standing up quickly from the bed, "That's criminal!"

"I know… I know… but what proof do I have? My suspicions? That wouldn't get him convicted. I'm way ahead of you," he says, walking back to me. Suddenly, speaking in almost a whisper, he goes on, "Even _I_ have entertained the idea of putting the man away, my own father, but it's not likely. Everyone seems to know he likes little girls, but no one wants to do anything about it."

"Maybe they just don't know," I reason, sitting myself down on the floor next to the papers.

"I'm pretty sure they do. Hell, if Roxanne knew about, and all the other kids, I'm pretty dammed sure that news like that would have gotten to their parents sometime." he states, sitting down with me and shuffling some papers on the floor before him.

"Wha-what-what did you say?" I stare incredulously at him. He couldn't mean _Roxanne_,could he? The same gum-chewing annoyance currently dating my best friend? No, no… he has to mean someone else.

Unmoved, he reiterates, "If Roxanne knew, everyone had to know. Adults included." 

"Roxanne?"

"Yes,"

"_Roxanne_?" I repeat.

"Yes," he looks strangely at me, "What?"

After taking a moment to compose myself, I begin, "Charlie, are you sure your dad never did anything… you know, that would _warrant_ worry?" I ask, softly, as if the man in question were listening at the door.

__

"No." he says, shortly.

__

"Are you sure?" I question again. 

He looks down, and places a hand to his forehead. Distressed, he stands up from the floor again and walks to the book shelf. "Arnold, this is getting really weird. I… I can't talk about this anymore today. You, you have to leave." he walks quickly to his door and opens it. Funny, this reminds me of how Helga told me I had to leave. "You _know_," he says, disbelievingly, "I shouldn't have told you all of that. Please, Arnold, leave my house."

"Why-wait a minute!" I protest, standing up as well.

"Please!" he begs. This is strange… so very strange…

"But wait, hold on!" 

"Please," he starts, defeated, "just go. You weren't supposed to be here without Helga anyway… although I don't blame her for not showing up," Charlie says with a bit of dark humor.

"But-"

"Please, do as I ask…" he looks at me, sadness in his eyes. Why the sudden change in mood?

Just as I was beginning to learn something about this guy's life he cuts me short of information and kicks me out! I don't get it, why did he suddenly go from being open with me to angry at me for telling me anything! I feel so frustrated, yet… I guess I can't really get mad at him for shutting me out like that. I still can't believe what he said…

Roxanne was his dad's little love interest? 

The thought of telling Gerald crosses my mind, but as I get home for the second time today, I find sleep more appealing. The days ever since I met this Charlie Reiker have always been strange, but this is… this is almost too strange for me to deal with. Why did Charlie tell me all that stuff about his family anyway? I don't understand it….

I just don't understand this at all… 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Ok, I've got one thing to say… LOL!! I read the reviews and saw what that person 'Guess…' put, and I was going to say something at the end of this chapter along the lines of 'Eh, you can't please everyone, right?', but then… then I saw what Keiko wrote and I laughed my ass off! Man, that was a really cool thing you said in my defense, I can't thank you enough! Hehe! ;D

Anyway, here's chapter 14. I know there's a lot of dialogue in this chapter too, but it's kind of needed. The whole mood of this chapter is kind of fast and strange, but it was meant to be like that… it kind of shows how odd this Charlie character can be. One minute he's opening up to Arnold, the next he's telling him to leave his house. Go figure… 


	15. Out From The Deep

I DO NOT OWN HEY ARNOLD!!! DON'T SUE ME!!! (I don't have any money anyway so you wouldn't get much out of it if you did) 

****

Return To Innocence

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

"Class, it's time to turn in your research papers," Mr. Reiker informs. Instead of inevitable groans there is nothing… only silence and strange looks. Phoebe, forever the goody-goody like myself, raises her hand. Reiker glances around the room, not realizing (in the least) the looks on his students faces. "Yes, Ms Hyerdahl?"

"Sir? I don't believe you assigned us a research paper. I'm quite certain that if you had I would have remembered it." she says. A sigh of relief is heard throughout the classroom. Perhaps they all thought they just forgot to do it? Not me, though… I know he didn't assign any paper.

"Phoebe?" he says, flabbergasted, "You mean to tell me _you _didn't do the paper?" for dramatic effect he places his hand on his heart and stares wide-eyed at her. Phoebe blushes, more so with frustration than with embarrassment, no doubt.

"No, no! That's not what I said at all," she flips open a notebook on her desk and searches through the pages. "When was this alleged paper assigned?" she questions, still searching her notebook.

"Well, I…" Reiker thinks about it for a moment, "Well, it was on the week of the 14th, I know that much,"

Phoebe mumbles to herself as she searches, "Ah-ha!" she stabs her notebook loudly with her index finger, "See, sir, it says right here in my agenda that the only thing you assigned that week was the map activity. If I'm not mistaken, Mr. Reiker, that assignment was turned in over a week ago, and in the week in question, no other homework was given, therefore making it impossible for the research paper to have been assigned that week." Phoebe takes a deep breath and few people clap at her intelligent response. Reiker soon quiets them and looks indignantly at Phoebe.

"You _must _be mistaken young lady. I remember clearly assigning the paper that week. Maybe you just simply forgot to record it in your little book-"

"Agenda," Phoebe corrects.

Reiker goes on, "Or maybe you were absent the day I gave the assignment and simply didn't hear of it,"

"Um, no sir. Phoebe here has perfect attendance, that's just not possible," a girl's voice protests.

"Look, _class_," Reiker tries to stare us down, "I assigned that paper and if you didn't do it, tough!"

"So, what, is the whole class going to get a zero, then? Pft! That doesn't make sense!" calls another faceless student. 

"Oh, it makes a lot of sense!" Reiker raises his voice. "Maybe I should just have a talk with your principal about how you're all trying to _confuse _me! How you're all trying to make me think I didn't give you homework just so you won't have to turn it in. Nope! You're not going to do that!" he says getting a little agitated. This seems strange, even for him. He looks, wide-eyed, at all of us… looking at each one our faces individually. Looking as if he's broken out in a cold sweat, he begins to back away from the student's desks. Is this paranoia?

"Switch to decaf old man!" calls the annoying boy in the back. "You didn't assign any homework."

"Not that you'd do it anyway," replies a girl under her breath.

"Nobody asked _you_!" the boy says, defensively.

"I… Class, I… I'll be back, I need to go out for a second," says Reiker, his breath coming quickly and uneven. He walks hurriedly to the door and after glancing one last time at us, leaves the classroom to us students. The shocking and seemingly unexpected event brings a hush of confused silence amongst the students. Where did he go? Will he be back?

"Whoa…" is all someone can say. 

By the time lunch comes around, the fiasco of first period is the subject of everyone's conversations. You see, Mr. Reiker never _did _come back to the classroom. It wasn't until about five minutes before the bell that the principal happened to walk into our class to find it had been abandoned by it's teacher. When she questioned us about his whereabouts, no one could answer. Angry, the woman left the room to search for him and ask around, but to no avail. I heard after second period that a sub had been called… which leads me to wonder what DID happen to my teacher?

"Oh, Arnold, did you hear?" Lila asks, lowly, distressed on some level.

I stand looking frivolously through my locker, "Hear what?" I humor her, somewhat. After all, I know already what she's going to say.

"Your History teacher left," she says, surprised, with a hint of worry in her soft voice. 

"I know," I say, sounding as if I could care less. Realizing this, I add, "I was there, I saw the whole thing."

"Really?" she widens her eyes more, "Are you ok? You know, people are saying some terrible things about the man. Things like he might have gone crazy and went on a killing spree," _yeah, right_, "or that he's dead somewhere." _not likely_.

"Lila," I shake my head, "That's not possible."

"Oh, but Arnold, what if it is?" she places her hands on my shoulders, "What if he's gone? Never coming back?" she's overreacting, right? She looks intensely at me and grips my shoulders slightly. This is getting uncomfortable… she's too close. 

I move away from her abruptly, pretending to look for something in my locker, "It's not that bad. People make too much of things like this. Once it becomes a rumor it's so far from the tru-"

"Arnold?" I hear a small voice and turn quickly to see… Gerald?

He smiles a little while averting his eyes from mine. I thought he was angry at me? True, it has been a few days since our little 'fight', as Helga put it, but still… I look over to Lila standing next him, and see her looking down to her feet, nervously kicking air. Her somewhat affectionate behavior aggravates me beyond words, yet I can't tell exactly why. She stands there, saying nothing, DOING nothing to cause such animosity from me, but she irritates me. Although I can say she annoys me, I by no means hate her. She's a friend right? A friend whom I thought I loved once? Is that right? 

"Well, Arnold, I suppose I'll see you later." she says with a sort of lilt in her calm, childlike, voice. She smiles slightly then turns to walk away. Through the crowds of hungry, cranky, teenagers, she manages to disappear. I watch her a few moments, then look back to my best friend… whom I haven't spoken to in days, almost a record for the two of us.

"Hey," I sigh, closing my locker finally. He insecurely slips his hands into his pockets. 

"Hey, man," he says, sighing tiredly himself. After saying nothing further I tilt my head and put on a questioning look. 

"You aren't still mad at me, are you?" I ask, trying to look him in the eye, but having considerable trouble doing so. He sighs again, maybe thinking about the question? Maybe. He and I turn to walk to the cafeteria and be chuckles a little to himself.

"No… no." he says, finally, an eerie, distant, smile creeping onto his face. "In fact, you were right."

"I was?"

"Yeah. I was kind of angry at you for how you feel about Roxanne. But… It IS your own opinion and I really have no right to ask you to change it… even for me." he looks knowingly at me and smiles again. "Besides, how long could we really stay mad at each other?" he laughs a little again.

Somehow this doesn't seem right to me. I know Gerald means what he says on some level, but on another there's this dishonesty to his words that worries me. It's almost as if he's hiding something from me, and that alone upsets me. Is it wrong of me to be so honest with him about Roxanne? Is it maybe a little selfish of me to treat her the way I do just because I don't like her? And to do it in front of him? Probably. And yet… I can't stop myself. Am I a horrible a person? Maybe not, but I feel that way looking back at my actions…

Upon entering the cafeteria,I automatically search out the room. Who am I looking for? Helga, of course. The thought that she might be skipping out today again angers me. I want to make sure she's here today before I sit and eat a pleasant lunch with my best friend. I look at all the tables and see… nothing. All the nameless faces in the room can't make up for the emptiness I feel when I realize she's not there. Did she come to school at all today? Probably not. Does it disappoint me? In a word, yes; but in a sense it doesn't surprise me, nor should it. How many days is this now? Three? Four? What is the purpose of her repeated absences? For what reason would she have to repeatedly refuse to go to Charlie's? Maybe at first I would have blamed it solely on _him_, but now… maybe it's me too. Maybe she's trying to get away from me… but why? I keep thinking back to that day… that day she came to my boarding house, rain-soaked and ready to talk (somewhat). Perhaps the way I looked at her offended her _that _much? Maybe she's just sick of men, period? Ha ha, yes maybe in a joking manor I could say that she's fed up with being looked at by the three of us. Me, Charlie's father, and yes… Charlie himself. Now, I'm not completely sure, but I would be willing to bet money on the fact that Charlie is a little fond of her. Maybe I'm looking too hard for it, but I see it; the way he looks at her; the way he talks to her; the way he was begging her that day to tell him something… something that I'm still not sure I know exactly.

And as Gerald and I approach our usual table there _she _is… Roxanne. Her face no longer repulses me, but instead brings out sympathy for her. I see her sitting there, at the lonesome table… tapping her nails, waiting, anticipating the arrival of her boyfriend. Boyfriend? Maybe they are, maybe they aren't. Surely, though, they're more than 'dating'. In fact, I'd have to say she's been one of his longest 'flings'. But she's not a fling anymore, is she? She more, I know… and maybe that's what scares me the most.

"Oh, it's _you_," she says, rolling her pretty gray eyes. I've never been one to like a lot of make-up on a girl, but on Roxanne… it seems as though you can't have one without the other. She and eye-liner go hand-in-hand, almost. She slits her eyes at me as I sit down. "I thought you weren't sitting with us anymore," she politely comments, a big fake smile playing across her full lips.

I smile, "Well, I'm back," I can't argue with this girl now, not after what I know about the poor child. I sit back in my seat and pull my back pack onto my lap.

"You're not eating lunch?" Gerald asks, finally. He stands up from the table and points over to the numerous over-crowded lines.

"Thanks, I'll pass," I say absently, searching through my book bag.

"Well… I'm going to go get something to eat. I'll be back," he begins to walk off, but stops and walks back to our little table. "Roxanne, you want to come with?"

"No," she looks up to him and winks, "I'm on a diet," she smiles.

"Figures…" I comment, fumbling through my stuff. Whoa, that one _slipped_…

Without looking at me (I assume she didn't hear) she begins looking through her purse for something. "So I hear you're working with that Charlie guy on some project," she starts. 'That Charlie guy?' As if she didn't even know who he is! Then again… she hasn't spoken to the guy since they were 10... Can I blame her?

"Yeah," I say, pulling out my _Lolita_ book. No use in wasting the lunch period listening to mindless babble from Roxanne right? I might as well catch up on reading.

"He's kind of creepy, you know," she says, pulling out her compact. If only she knew how Charlie felt about her. He didn't say it, but I know he still cares about her. She touches up her foundation, all the while looking at me almost through the corner of her eye. She snaps it closed and throws it back in her purse, then leans closer to the table towards me… waiting for me to say something.

I flip through the book, though, trying hard to ignore her obvious stare.

"What does he say?" she inquires, looking around the cafeteria. She sounds like she could care less; she sounds like this is something furthest from her thoughts; I know better, though…

"What do you mean?" I put the book down, now staring back at her. She looks at me, shifting her gaze from eye to eye.

"Well, what does he talk about? Weird stuff?" she says, although I think she knows that _I know _that's not what she means.

"No. In fact, he doesn't talk a lot at all. He's sort of a quiet guy." I say, continuing this little charade.

She half-laughs and looks down to her purse. What does that mean? "Yeah," she looks to her left, "he's REAL quiet."

"And how would you know?" I question. Now she's stuck and she knows it. Her eyes widen and looks to me… me, sitting across from her with a smug smile. She stutters a little and then takes a deep breath to steady her response.

"Everyone knows creepy Charlie," she says.

"Not like you do," I reply, and look back to my book. Before she can falsely defend herself Gerald approaches with a lunch tray and sits himself between the two of us. Roxanne, speechless (and looking like a deep caught in headlights) stares incredulously at me while I read. Is that a look of surprise or horror?

As lunch goes on, small talk is achieved between the three of us, but nothing more. Is it uncomfortable? Yes, but I can't say I'm surprised. Roxanne can say nothing to me and I feel badly in a sense. But for what? For letting her know that I know she's a long estranged friend of creepy Charlie? Maybe… or perhaps she's afraid I know more… which I do. 

Now, I see Roxanne, not as the annoyance, but as the _Lolita_. Don't understand? Well, let me explain… If I were to assign a character to each person, here's how it would go: Humbert would obviously be Charlie's father. The fact that they both have an immoral and unnatural attraction for little girls, makes them an almost perfect match… although I DO have to say that I favor Humbert between the two, as he seems to be the one with the conscience. Charlotte would have to be Charlie. Yes, I realize Charlie is a man and Charlotte is a woman, but see… Charlotte, as Dolores' mother, seems to be in the middle of it all. However, Charlie doesn't seem to be as naïve as Charlotte, so the similarities between the two aren't very striking. Now, for the character of Dolores Haze, better known as Lolita… I would have say that Roxanne fits that role well. For example, she's the (once) object of the father's affection. His obsession with her seems to parallel that of Humbert's doomed obsession for the nymphet Lolita. So Roxanne is the father's Lolita? _His_ Lolita. Maybe Charlie's father wasn't exactly obsessed with her, but you can't deny his _love _for her. Love? Maybe. Caring for her? More than likely.

But wait… what about Annabel? The reason for Humbert's obsession with little Lolita. Annabel was her precursor, was she not? And what about Helga? She must fit a role too, but who? Annabel? No, I doubt it. But, then, wait… is it fair to call Roxanne Lolita? Roxanne came before Helga, right? And Charlie's father seems to be fond of her (Helga) now, right? Ok, so if Roxanne is Annabel, the one who came first, who would fit the role of little Dolores Haze? Helga? Oh my… I think that's right. Helga as Lolita? It seems oddly appropriate and yet… unsettling. Yes, I now realize that Roxanne fits Annabel better than Lolita but still… it wouldn't be so bad if it were HER as Lolita rather than Helga. Helga… I have to see her.

True to my own word, after school I found myself standing outside her (Helga's) house again. Am I afraid to go in? yes. But not because I'm afraid of _her_… but because I'm afraid of my own anger. What will I say to her? She can't keep staying home from school like this. Not only am I getting worried, but I'm getting angry. Angry that she keeps leaving me alone with Charlie. But that's not the whole reason, is it? I'm hurt. Yes, hurt. I have this feeling that she's not only trying to escape Charlie… but me, also… and I want to know why. 

I knock once on her door and wait. I must control my anger…

After only a short while, her mother answers the door. "Oh?" she says walking out of the house, "May I help you?" 

"May I see Helga? Is she here?" I ask, watching as her mother walks down the steps of the stoop. 

"Yeah," she smiles, "I've got to go down to the grocery store, be back in a bit. B isn't home yet, though, but he should be getting off work soon." she says as she walks down to the car. I wave a goodbye, finding it hard to get a word in her between hers. The car door slams and I watch in silence, without moving, as her car travels down the block and disappears from sight. I look back to the front door and see it's slightly ajar and proceed to let myself in. 

The house is quiet and cool. I don't hear anything; no T.V.; no radio… where's Helga? Must be in her room, I deduce, and proceed to walk up her lengthy staircase. Again my eyes are assaulted by the numerous pictures of her sister Olga… and again I feel sorry for Helga. Sorry that her family neglects her the way they do. When I reach her door I contemplate knocking first or just going in. that would scare her, I realize, I'd better knock first. And so I do so.

"What is it, Miriam?!" She hollers. Again, she doesn't sound sick in the least. I knock again. "Ugh, hold on.." she gripes and I hear the sounds of her getting off her bed and walking across the floor. The door unlocks and I feel suddenly aware of where I am. Uninvited, standing at the bedroom door of one, Helga G. Pataki. The door swings open and I'm confronted by an annoyed girl with long blonde hair, let loose and half falling over her shoulder. She gasps and slams the door in my face. "Who let _you _in?!" she cries through the closed door.

"Your mother," I flatly say, taping my foot.

"Ok… a better question… WHAT are you doing here?" she asks, a little more calmly.

"I've got to talk to you, NOW." I say, surprised at my own assertiveness.

There's silence. 

Reluctantly (I imagine), she opens the door with a questionable look. "About what?" she asks, slowly. I walk past her into her room and look around. The bed is made, the room is clean, yet there is an assortment of colored notebooks and crumpled up pieces of papers lying about her bed and the floor. She quickly moves to stand in front of me. "_About what_?" she reiterates a little more annoyed. I look at her then at the mess of papers and she quickly moves again to clean them up. "You know," she starts, picking up some crumpled up notebook paper near her bed, "I wish you'd give me a little notice before you _drop by_, "she glances at me, "Bob could be home any minute."

"I know," I say, nonchalantly, crossing my arms.

She shoves the pile of notebooks off her bed, causing quite a bit of nose as they all thump to the hard floor. "There, better?" she says sarcastically, motioning for me to come sit down next to her. I do so, slowly, watching her expression intently.

"Why are you staying home from school again?" I bluntly ask, getting to the point. She looks around the room innocently and shrugs. "What excuse are you going to use this time?" 

"I don't know what you're talking about," she says, raising her eyebrows and looking the other way. She sighs and lays back on her bed, drawing her arm over her face to cover her eyes. This annoys me, she can't escape eye contact _that _easily. 

"You know what I'm talking about!" I yell, moving to pull her arm away from her eyes. They flutter open and become very wide.

"Hey, take it easy!" she says, and sits up.

"Just answer me!" I say and move closer to her. Where did all this anger come from?

"Answer what?" she asks, furrowing her brow. She places a hand roughly to my chest to keep me at a safe distance from her.

"Why are you staying home from school?" I take a deep breath to calm myself down.

"Why should I tell you? My own business is my own business, right?" she challenges me with a look of aggravation.

"Yeah, in most situations it is… but not in this one. Tell me, now," I say. Am I scaring her? I see this look of terror in her pale eyes that shames me and I back up a little bit.

"Ok, I was helping out Miriam today, that's all," she offers, shrugging again.

"So that's your story?"

"That's what I was _doing_," she looks me directly in the eye and raises her eyebrows again for effect. I don't know what to say to this girl to get her to confess to me what I already know. I stare at her and can't help but wonder what's going on in her head at the moment. Indignantly, she still stares at me. Will she back down? Is she trying to make me? This sort of tension fills the air and I suddenly see a kind of sadness in her eyes. Is that my doing too? She still looks at me, wondering what I will say next to upset her. I'm angry and upset and yet I look at her and, for some reason, find it hard to remember why. 

This girl… she's not like Lila; she's not like Roxanne (God, no.); she's not like Phoebe… she's… Helga. Unique. Different. The Enigma that intrigues me so.

People, going about their business day to day, wouldn't necessarily stop to see this girl. These people, who would rather see a pretty face without a _mouth_, look past her, this wonderful girl. She stands unrecognized by _them_; unconscious, herself, of her fantastic power. I never noticed it before. How I always seemed to look past her; how I seemed to never _really_ see her. I'm no better than the others, right? Me, who now sees the truth. Me, who now knows… that I _do_ see her… that I _do_ recognize her. She, a beautiful poet with enough common sense to completely drown out any remote trace of a childlike naiveté. She, who at 14 has the quick wit and jadedness of a middle-aged adult. She, who might know a little _too _much about the corruptions of the world. She, who… who looks at me, not through rose-tinted glasses, but through bright, knowing, eyes. Those eyes… not unlike her best friend's, in that they hold a certain truth in them… a certain amount of wisdom. 

Her face, her eyes… her lips, pushing together in an obvious sign of annoyance. "_What _are you looking at?!" she scolds, now biting her lip.

Angry…

Annoyed…

Anxious…

She looks nervously around the room… uncomfortable with my closeness? The anger I hold inside presents itself as a flush on my cheeks. But is it only anger that causes me to blush? She's close to me now… my need to intimidate her into telling me her reason for her absence has cooled down, and yet I still find myself getting closer to her. Backing her into a corner, if you will, against her headboard. What am I doing? She blushes too as I keep moving closer to her. Is she afraid? Her expression is hard to tell. I might say it looks like terror; but then again, it could also anger; and still yet, it could also be surprise. 

Suddenly everything is different, I'm no longer aware of where I am. My surrounding have faded out and I see only her. I don't think I've seen her with her hair down before… she looks different. Older. Not really like the old Helga. Sure she might have worn it like that before at school, but I wouldn't have noticed. But I notice now… she, sitting before me, her face inches from mine. The fight against temptation is a hard battle to win… 

So, I choose not to fight…

In a quick motion that surprises the both of us, I bridge the gap between us. For the first time, willingly, I'm kissing Helga G. Pataki…

My oppressor... 

My bully…

My… 

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Yay! Finally, an update! Ok, sorry for taking so long, but this has been a really hectic week. On Monday I saw The Journal, whoo! I don't know how many of you out there saw it, but it was a great episode! Wonderful! Fantastic! The best! 

Anyway, I've been really sick and have been trying to work on my research paper too, I hope you all understand ;) 


	16. Why

I DO NOT OWN HEY ARNOLD!!! DON'T SUE ME!!! (I don't have any money anyway so you wouldn't get much out of it if you did) 

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Return To Innocence

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A sharp…

…sting…

…across my cheek, stops me in my act. No surprise, Helga Pataki's just--in a mad panic and maybe rightfully so--struck me across the face. Wait, though, if I'm not mistaken it's the first time she's actually hit me (that I can remember). It jolts me quickly from the fantasy world that so shortly before surrounded me. How could I think that I could just _do_ that? _Touch_ her like that… _kiss_ her like that. I did, though, didn't I? I kissed her. Even this realization seems hard to believe, though it is a recollection of something I have _just _done. Did it happen? Did it _really_? Slowly I turn to face this madwoman, staring hatefully at me, out of breath slightly from her full-forced swing. Instinctively, I step back from her. Bringing a hand slowly up to touch the hot , almost swollen, hand print across my cheek, I stare wide-eyed at her. Helga. I'm sorry? (What can I say?) There are so many things I want to say to you, yet you look at me now as though I've just killed a part of you. Have I? 

"I want you to leave," you say, taking a step back from me, in my broken state. I drop my jaw slightly in anticipation of words that have yet to be formed. "LEAVE!" you shout once more, pointing your finger toward the door. Do you hate me? 

"Wh-wh-wait!" is what finally spills from my lips. She raises an eyebrow and crosses her arms over her chest. This act, though, seems more as a response to insecurity than to anger. Trying to cover herself up, it seems. What does she take me for?

She stands there, angry, terrified I might try something further. She steps back again. Why must you move away from me like that? "I asked you to go," she repeats, backing herself against her wall, reaching back to touch it, a way to prove it's really there. 

"I'm sorry," I say, more as an offer than an apology. A question mark seems to linger at the end of my pitiful words… does she know I'm insincere about it? Could she possibly know the depths of my seemingly unrequited feelings? Just how much do I care about her? Do I even know, myself? I step forward and reach out to her. What am I doing? I'm making things worse for myself, I know, but I can't leave her house like this. I can't have this be the last thing that goes on between us. But how, I ask, can I make this bad situation into a good one? How is anything I do going to justifiably make relations between us better? How? I reach further and place my hands on her shoulders. Isn't this what Lila did? She shrugs violently to shake me away, but her attempt is futile.

"Don't _touch _me," she spits, distastefully, still trying her best to move away from my grasp. Oh, but is it not your own fault, my dear, for backing yourself against a wall? You haven't any place to go.

"Just let me explain," I offer again, holding her still. She looks at me-- that same look of terror flashing in her pale eyes --and furrows her brow. I find, though, that I _have_ no explanation. What can I possibly say? I seemed to have backed myself into a corner (Was that a pun?).

"Well? I'm waiting for your _great _explanation." she says, sarcasm dripping from her words. I look at her, switching my gaze from eye to eye. Oh, God, think of something to say you fool!

"I…" I exhale sharply, "Helga, look, I didn't… I didn't mean to… do that." I look sadly into her judgmental eyes and she slits them at me once more.

"So why'd you do it?" she challenges, crossing her arms yet again. Suddenly, all the hate and frustration that I harbored when I first got to her house comes flooding back. Why should I explain myself to her? I came for a reason, damn it! I was angry at this… this girl! SHE was the one who was supposed to explain herself to _me_! 

I look at her a moment more (not thinking in the least about her question), then an idea pops into my head. She stands, 'pinned' before me, a hateful glare contorting her facial features. Uncrossing her arms, she once again tries to push me away, but this time I react. I quickly grab onto her wrists and she winces at my aggressiveness. Am I holding onto her too roughly? She hardens her stare again, though, and I realize that my force is not what's paining her. "Let go!" she cries, and tries to wiggle away, "What are you doing!?"

"We're going over to Charlie's!" I shout back, silencing her at once. Suddenly, she ceases her struggle altogether and her wild limbs seem to go limp. I don't understand this. Her expression is one of shock and the color seems to have drained itself completely from her face.

"Wh-what?" she forces out, tilting her head slightly to the left as if she can't comprehend what I mean. 

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"Why are we here?" she asks softly before I knock on the door. She seems now like a broken child, rocking back and forth in a corner. Not literally, of course, but her demeanor has changed drastically since I first arrived at her house. Ah, so maybe the tables have turned? My dear Helga, I guess it is now I that is in the position of dominance for once. But is there more to your look of betrayal? I see this sadness in your eyes that I can't help but feel a pang of guilt for. I am, of course, the reason for it.

"We're here because I'm tired of you skipping out on your OWN project. Helga, think about it. How much sense does it make for you not to show up when it was you who asked me to join the thing? Did you ask just so I would do all of the work?" I know she didn't, but I'm really only striving for a reply. I know she will correct me any moment. She will blurt out some insult along the lines of, 'No, you stupid football head, of course not!', or 'yeah, _Arnoldo_, I asked you to do the project just so you could do it for me. You don't even have my same English teacher!' But…

Silence…

"Why did you bring me here," this is your response? My dear, what happened to the inevitable insults that always seem come whenever you are around me? "I can't believe you brought me here." she looks down and slouches slightly. From exhaustion? Who am I kidding? She's sad, I can plainly see it! Oh, the guilt, but I-

"Arnold? Helga?" Charlie answers, surprised. Strange, I hadn't even knocked yet. He stands before us, coat on, looking as if we caught him just before leaving the house on some errand. "I… didn't think you two would be over today."

"Yeah, I know, because Helga didn't show up at school today, right?" Oh, that came out a little harsher than I intended. I look over to Helga herself and see that she hasn't any reaction to my comment at all. She's… bland. Not there. Didn't she hear me at all? Is she that upset with me? True, I did sort of drag her here against her will, but… she had to come, right? After all, wasn't it she who first MADE me join in on this project because it meant that she would fail otherwise? What, now, would posses her to skip school and the project all together? Does she not care about her grade anymore?

All the way to Charlie's, Helga seemed to stay--for the most part--absolutely silent. She struggled a few times, almost freeing herself once, but I held onto her tightly. The strange looks on the people passing us by was priceless. Most weren't sure if I was kidnapping her or helping her to walk home. I was kidnapping her, though, wasn't I? I still am. 

"Yes, actually," Charlie says, looking slightly troubled. "Look, I was just coming outside for some fresh air. Do you mind if we work on the project out here?" he scratches his head a little and runs his hand through his messy hair. He takes a deep breath and looks expectantly at the two of us. Helga still faces away from everything; I should turn around; I should walk back to Helga's and take her home; I should apologize; but I don't. instead, I walk with Helga to his stoop and sit down. "I'll be back," he says and walks back inside. He must be getting the materials for the project.

As we sit down I can't help but steel a few glances of Helga out of the corner of my eye. Did I do the right thing by bringing her here? She had to start coming back sometime but still… she looks… so sad. My heat seems to twist into a knot as I watch her lean forward, raising her legs to a higher step to lean closer to them on her crossed arms. Her shoulders are hunched and her head is low. Her face has none of the usual liveliness to it. It's dull. Pale. Dead. Oh, this is doing a number on my conscience… I watch in silence as the colors of sunset play across her emotionless face. "Are you angry at me?" I blurt. Well, obviously… yeesh, even _I_ know the answer to THAT one.

"You're such a moron," she states, and I can see her roll her eyes, though I can only see her profile. This breaths relief into my being and I visibly relax. Strange, for most people an insult would anger them, make them want to fight back, but in this case, the insult means she's still the same old Helga. I hope. "Of course I'm _angry_, I've been _angry _the whole way over here, and I'm going to be _angry _the whole time I'm here!" she turns to glare at me, the first time since I stated we were going to Charlie's. She sighs loudly and stands up, "I'm going home," she declares.

"You have to stay," I say, no longer angry, but rather in a begging sense.

"Do I?" asks she, in a mocking tone. She turns away from me and crosses her arms again. Now, though, I'm absolutely sure she's doing it because she's angry… and rightfully so.

"Come on, Helga, remember your grade? You're staying," I insist, standing up to speak at her level.

"Fat chance!" she cries, throwing her head back in a fit of forced laughter.

"Please?"

"You want me to do what you ask even though is was YOU who dragged me here against my will? Nope, sorry," she shakes her head and folds her arms. "Come on, football head, what do you take me for?" I step to her and she defensively raises her hands before her and steps back away from me, "Nuh-uh-uh, remember? This is how it happened the first time. Stay away, or I'll scream," she says calmly, still backing away from me.

Against my better judgment, I take another step to her.

"Get away from me!" she shrieks, becoming red in the face. 

"What's going on here?" I turn quickly to see Charlie standing behind us on his stoop, notebooks and paper in hand, "Are you two ok?" he asks, emotionless, but with a small sense of worry in his dark eyes.

"Fine," I say, trying to be reassuring. "What do you say we start working on the 'Why the novel is so controversial' part of the project?" I try to quickly start the subject of the book before Helga says the inevitable. I don't want her to leave.

"Yeah, that'll be fine." he sits himself down on the stoop and sets all the notebooks down but one. That one, he opens and flips to a particular part. "I've already started the rough for that one, come and look at." I smile half-heartedly and walk toward him. 

He looks frivolously through two of the other notebooks, "I have some other papers for that too, hold on," he rips out a few notebook papers and inspects them, "here," he says, handing them to me, proudly. 

_Lolita: Why the book is so controversial._

_The obvious would be that it portrays a relationship between a 12-year-old girl and a 40-year-old man, but the book seems to be controversial in other-_ Suddenly, Charlie makes a 'hmm' sound, as if he were pondering something and I'm forced to look at him. He looks around the sidewalk and frowns, "What is it?" I ask, still standing, still facing him.

"Where's Helga?" He asks, actually sounding slightly distressed.

"What?" I blush red from anger and turn quickly around me. She's not there anymore! Oh, stupid, stupid, stupid! How could I have just _assumed _she wouldn't run off? Oh, I should have paid better attention to her! I hand Charlie his paper back and walk a little ways down the sidewalk. 

"Where are you going?" he calls, standing up on the step. He frowns, not understanding my urgency.

"I'm going find Helga!" I reply, my anger fueled once more. She left again? What is this, a soap opera?! Oh, that girl! She makes me so angry sometimes! I walk quickly in the direction of her big blue house, angry and frustrated. She won't run away from me again! I'm going to give her a piece of my mind. But… did it really do so much good the first time? She didn't listen then, what makes me think she'll listen this time? I just can't believe she ran away from me again. However, I CAN understand her animosity towards me. She has a right to be mad, though, doesn't she? I slow my walking pace slightly. She didn't want to come to Charlie's, who am I to MAKE her come? I turn the corner of the block and slow even more, I guess I can't blame- "Mr. Reiker?" I stop cold and watch as a man that resembles my history teacher sits lonely and cold on a bus stop bench. What's he doing here? Has he been here all day?

Slowly, the man looks up to me--yes, it IS Mr. Reiker, no doubt about that--and smiles slightly. What should I do? Just stand here? Walk to him? Turn to leave? He blinks slowly as if he hasn't slept in days and beckons for me to come to him. 

He looks dirty…

He looks sad…

He looks worried…

What's wrong with this man?

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Here's chapter 16. Man, isn't procrastination great? I wrote this when I was _supposed _to be writing my research paper. Ugh, I can't think of a thesis or how to start it! Oh well, at least I didn't _completely _waste my time. Hehe ;)


	17. Turn Around

I DO NOT OWN HEY ARNOLD!!! DON'T SUE ME!!! (I don't have any money anyway so you wouldn't get much out of it if you did) 

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Return To Innocence

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Oh, isn't it funny how the most beautiful days can be the ugliest to bare? Or how no matter how sunny it is, there is still a darkness that looms over all? It may be ironic that I fear the rainy days, yet the unsettlingly calm, bright, days are the ones which I must come to look out for. Will I ever learn? Not likely. And so I sit here in the bright darkness, next to my insane (or so it appears) teacher, shaking from what seems to be a cool chill in the almost-Autumn air. He sighs happily as we sit in an eerily comfortable silence. Neither one of us really wants to break it, although we know that it is inevitable. He pulls tightly at his oversized coat, self-consciously it seems, and slouches a bit. It looks as though he's trying to protect himself from the world; trying unsuccessfully, maybe, to shut everything out. Why is he doing this? "Can I ask you something?" 

He sighs again, but sadly this time, and looks reluctantly at my questioning expression. He says nothing, though, and ops to stay quiet and let me go on with my obvious question. "Where did you go today?" he furrows his brow and tilts his head, looking as if he doesn't understand what I mean. "You know," I slowly go on, "when you left class."

He sighs again and looks to the street, "You know, Arnold, I always loved days like this when I was a kid. There's something about this funny kind of weather that I just love. It's not too cold, but it's not very warm either. It could snow if it wanted to, or it could be up to 80 degrees. It all depends." What is he talking about? "See, when I was about your age, I wanted to be a weatherman, can you believe that? The weather affected me _that _much. Look what I've become, though, a spacey high school History teacher, who couldn't keep the interest of his students if he looked like Heidi Lamar." 

"That's not true," I cut in, although I'm quite confused with his subject change.

"Yes it is," he insists, somewhat defeated. "You say that because you're just about the only student I haven't lost. Well, that is, besides dear Phoebe." well, I guess I can't really argue with him there, can I?

"Mr. Reiker," I start again, determined to make him answer my burning question, "Where were you today?"

He smiles distantly and looks up at the sky, "I think the clouds are coming back, what do you think? Ha, I wanted to be a weatherman and I can't even predict the rain," he laughs slightly, "then again, neither can the REAL weathermen." Why won't he answer my simple question!

"Mr. Reiker-"

"Arnold," he says in a reprimanding tone and turns to look me in the eye, "some things are better left a mystery."

"But, why? We were worried about you--people were looking everywhere for you--how could you just leave us like that?" his eyes are slowly lowered as he turns away from me and looks to the dirty sidewalk. "Answer me," I persist.

"How's Charlie?" where did that come from?

"Excuse me?" my frustration is gone in a second at those words. I see that he might be changing the subject again, for his sake, but why bring up Charlie? 

"Is he a good student?" he asks, fidgeting with his fingers. Evening is slowly turned into night, I realize, and no longer are there comfortable warm colors in the sky. Instead, a light blue color has replaced them all and forced a slight melancholy feeling upon me. I raise my eyebrows and sit back further on the old bench. 

"I don't know," I shrug and look down to my lap, "You should ask him that." I look over to Reiker out of the corner of eye and see him shake his head. After a moment of unsettling silence, I add, "You DO talk to Charlie, right?" 

Reiker looks up and laughs slightly, "I haven't spoken to that kid in years." 

'That kid?' "What? Why?" I blurt out, somewhat angry with his nonchalant response.

He stays quiet for several minutes, pondering what the best reply to my question would be. Either way, I decide, his answer won't be a good one. "Arnold, there are things you don't understand," he says, slowly, speaking to me as if I were a kindergartener again .

"You're right," I say, standing from the bench to face him, "I don't _understand _why you wouldn't talk to your grandson for years! You know, a lot of people seem to be treating that kid badly, and I don't see a reason to," I animatedly throw my hands up into the air, "I don't _understand _why your whole family just shuts him out because his father is a pedophile!" Whoa, did I go too far? I cover my mouth to prevent any other obscene comments from slipping out and take a step back.

Reiker looks down, then back up to me, "You have no idea what you're talking about, boy!" he shouts, standing up to face me at eyelevel. "Damn it! I'm so sick of people saying-"

"Saying what? Things that are true? Things you maybe don't want to hear? How do you _yourself _know what's going on, huh? You said you haven't spoken to Charlie for years, right?" This may be the first time in a long time that I'm actually shouting at an adult. But it's substantiated, right?

"Just… stop!" he says, turning away from me, from the situation, "You best be keeping your nose out of where it doesn't belong, boy!" he says, condescendingly, and begins walking away.

"Fine, walk away!" I cry, taking a step to his retreating form.

He stops, as most would, and waits for me to continue.

"Why have you shut out Charlie?" I call to him, sadness seeping its way into my voice. My words suddenly becoming more personal than I intended. His shoulders hunch and he lets out a sigh of defeat.

"Everyone in the family has," he says, lowly and turns to face me. I frown and walk quickly to him. "Things… happen, Arnold, don't you understand? No one in the family has _seen _them in years."

"Mr. Reiker, with all due respect, you work at the same school Charlie attends! Why can't you go against the family? For Charlie's sake?" I look pleadingly into his big, dark, eyes. Eyes, I find, closely resemble those of the boy in question… the sad eyes of Charlie Reiker.

"I… you just don't understand."

"I _understand_. You're a coward. You don't want to be shut out, yourself, is that it?" I cross my arms.

"No, it's…" he looks all around, searching, probably, for the right response, "It's hard to go against them, you just don't understand," wrong answer.

"So I'm right? Mr. Reiker, I think it's you that doesn't understand. If you only knew what was going on--what Charlie goes through--you'd want to help him, or at least talk to him for God's sake. He's family, right? Why can't he be treated as such? It's not right-"

"What am I supposed to do, huh?" he starts defensively, "Come on, Arnold, things aren't that bad. Everyone has their problems," he says, dismissively. Is it possible to be as angry at him as I am? I uncross my arms and clench my hands into tight fists, "You just don't get it, Arnold," he shakes his head, "I'd like to help Charlie, I really would, but you know," he shrugs, "it's just not that simple," yes it is! I look at this man and see a side of him I never thought I could see in another human being besides Helga Pataki. However, I've come to realize that the hatred in _her _eyes and her sometimes cruel nonchalant attitude are nothing but a front for the beautiful person she is _inside_. In Reiker's case, though, it's sad to realize that what he says, he means. I feel defeated. Is there no way to get this man to care about Charlie the way I want him to? He looks down at me with a cold stare, finding it hard to understand my anger and desperation with the situation. I continue to look disbelievingly at him and frown once more. I can't believe one family member can treat another like that. "Look, I've got get going, so-"

"Mr. Reiker," I cut him off one last time, shaking my head sadly, "You're sad old man, and I hope you realize that." with that, I continue my walk to Helga's, almost forgetting--in the process of recent events--that it was my original destination. Suddenly, though, my anger with her has subsided. I'm no longer looking for a fight with her--searching out an argument--I just want an explanation. 

Besides, who can ever _really _win in an argument against one, Helga G. Pataki?

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I reach Helga's within minutes of my encounter with Reiker. I must have been walking faster than I thought, I realize, standing once more on the front stoop of _her _house. I sigh slightly, not knowing what to expect from this visit. Will she be extremely angry with me? Will she tell me to leave? Not to come back? Well, things can't be that bad, right? She wouldn't exactly throw me out, would she? Yes, yes she would… ugh…

I knock on the door, once more, and for several minutes receive no answer. Just before I can actually start to get worried, the door swings open. The man behind this forceful opening stares condescendingly down at me. His huge shadow covering me completely--me, poor Arnold, cowering before Big Bob Pataki!--as he towers over me. 

"Is Helga there?" I ask, for the second time today--or is it third? I'm not sure anymore; I seem to be coming and going from this house quite a lot lately.

"What?" he barks, loudly, obnoxiously, speaking to me as if what I had just uttered was said in a whisper.

"Helga? Is she home?" I repeat, slowly, trying to make this ogre of a man understand. He frowns and scratches his head. Is he having THAT much trouble understanding? Or, sadly, does he not realize what daughter I speak of? After all, as you might remember, his man seems to have quite a bit of trouble remembering his other daughter's name. Helga. H-E-L-G-A.

"Oh, oh yeah," he says, crossing his monstrously big arms across his broad chest. "No, she's home yet."

I frown, "Are you sure, sir?" she has to be there.

"Look, kid-"

"Arnold," I say, hoping he might get my name right for once.

"Look Alfred-"

"_Arnold_," I insist, suddenly understanding intimately Helga's frustration with the loss of her identity in this house.

"She's not home. If you want to check, be my guest," he walks away from the doorway, "you won't find anything, though." he calls, walking without interruption back to his beloved television.

"Fine!" I call after her _father_. I receive no reply and decide to do just what he suggested. I, _again_, walk into Helga's house. _Again, _my eyes are assaulted by the numerous pictures of the golden child of the Pataki house. _Again_, I think back to which family upsets me more. The Reikers, or the Patakis. At least Mr. Reiker can remember his grandson's _name_, I think, bitterly walking up the steps of Helga's _home_. Casually, I walk into her room, expecting to see the girl in question laying lazily across her bed; or, no, perhaps laying on her stomach, chewing incessantly on a pencil while pondering what the subject of her next poem would be about, but….

Nothing.

Silence…

There's this unsetting quietness to the girl's room that sends a shiver of concern up my spine. I look around and blink--long and hard--hoping that when I open my disbelieving eyes she'll be standing before me. She'll be there, ready to tell me why she doesn't like going to Charlie's; why she's skipping out on me AND her own English project. She'd be honest with me and tell me what happened at Charlie's that day I didn't go--something that still bugs me like you wouldn't believe--and she'd be safe, here, where I thought she'd be. Sadly, though, her presence and the great expectations--however delusional they are--that I had are nothing but an unrealistic hope. A silly hope. A damn silly hope. What am I to do? What gets me too, although I wouldn't want to admit it, is that Big Bob was right. She isn't here. I had to see for myself, though, didn't I? What, did I think that he was just lying to me? No, no… that's not it. It's of course that I thought 'how can he really have the desire to keep track of his daughter if he can't even remember her name?'

Am I overreacting? She could just be at Phoebe's, right? Of course, that's it… Phoebe's…

I seem to have a real knack for kidding myself, don't I?

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Here's Chapter 17 (although I really, really, really should be writing my paper right now!). I know it looks a little short, but that's just because there aren't as many spaces in this chapter. Hope you like it anyway ;D


	18. The Cross Of Changes

I DO NOT OWN HEY ARNOLD!!! DON'T SUE ME!!! (I don't have any money anyway so you wouldn't get much out of it if you did) 

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Return To Innocence

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I sit down, slowly, on Helga's bed and think. The thing that maybe scares me the most, is that she could be back at Charlie's. But now why would she go and do a thing like that? That certainly wouldn't make sense, but… well, what exactly am I supposed to think? I'm sure that Helga's father knows nothing and desires to know nothing about where his daughter could be. I feel I should ask, though, even if it were to be a waste of breath. Ugh, why? Why does she do this? She insists on alienating herself from people, especially the people who care about her. I mean, Phoebe aside, who else does Helga let get close to her? No one! It angers me, but… but I guess I can't blame the girl. A lot of things can contribute to someone's personality. I mean, I look at her father and wonder how she managed to survive to this age. She didn't really have the kind of loving home people like Gerald had, or Phoebe for instance. Even myself… even though I haven't been with my parents all my life I still feel grateful for the home I live in, however unique it may be. I see Helga as a nonentity in her home, which is horrible, and so is it so hard to understand why she lashes out at people? Alright… wait a minute… I'm angry at her! Why am I coming up with excuses for her behavior?

I sigh, and look slowly around her room. It's funny, I can't for a second believe that some school bully lives in this room. It's so… so… honest. Nothing in here tells me the child who inhabits it is an angry domineering 14 year old. It's like the room hasn't aged at all. I know that when people like Gerald and Sid turned 13, they remodeled their rooms. They had to make it more grown up, cool, if you will. They felt the need to completely cover up the boy they used to be. They just put that reflection of their former selves into a box, taped it up, and threw it into the attic… where it'll probably stay. Helga on the other hand seems to hold on to who she is. A few things in the room could even be called childish, which is great. The use of pinks and purples almost makes me feel like I'm standing in the room of a young child, but then again… it seems to have a maturity to it that… oh, I don't know… reflects the person she is inside? I'm not sure myself, actually. I just-

"So are you done here, Alfred?" asks her father, standing impatiently in her doorway, "I said she wasn't here. I was right, wasn't I? Do you see her anywhere?" he states, folding his arms across his broad chest.

"No," I reply softly, calmly.

He looks me strangely in the eyes and nods slowly, "So, you just gonna stay here and wait?" 

I detect the sarcasm in his voice and decide that maybe he's right to mock me. Leaving would be the better thing to do. Maybe go looking for her elsewhere? 

__

Yeah, like where?

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Strangely, the urgency from before is gone. I feel almost sedated now as I walk back to Charlie's. Oh yes, that's where I'm going. I have this nagging feeling that I'm right. Maybe I wasn't exactly right on her whereabouts at first but I'm definitely sure this is the only other possibility. Why? Eh, it's the last place I'd expect to find her. Don't understand? Well, Helga being Helga she probably wouldn't be where I expected her to be, case in point, the fact that she wasn't at her house. She's probably doing this on purpose, in fact, I'd be willing to bet on it. She knows I care about her, she's probably just trying to make me worry! No, why would she do that? She's not the kind of girl that would pull something for attention. She's not like, say, Rhonda. The kind of girl who's a sucker for affection. Nope, that's not my Helga. _My _Helga. Huh, that felt nice to say… _my_ Helga…

So now I find myself back at Charlie's. I can already see him sitting nonchalantly on the stoop as I approach. He looks at ease and calm, and it annoys me to an extent. I find the fact that I alone am angry about Helga's disappearance a little annoying. No, down-right annoying. But it's not Charlie who angers me, sitting quietly on the porch ahead of me, it's not. It's somebody else, or something else. Like a situation that caused my friend to go 'missing'. Intentionally, yes, but not willingly. I figure that if she hadn't been thrown into the situation she's in, she wouldn't be avoiding people. But I can't quite figure out how I'm using the word 'thrown'. After all, it's not as if she was forced to do something, it was for an assignment. Ah, but I know, having to do an assignment is kind of, if not _just _like, being forced to. Oh, I don't know what to think anymore. It's like I've been thinking the same thing over and over for the past few weeks. My feelings, emotions, they're being thrown off and distorted and I'm not sure how to get back on track… how to get back to being Arnold. Can I, even?

"So you're back?" he states, in an almost amused tone. He shifts a little in his sitting position, and even seems to straighten up a bit. "Helga told me-"

"Helga?" I blurt, furrowing my brow. 

"Yes, Helga," he begins again slowly, "She told me to tell you she was going home." he stood from the stoop and brushed off this clothes, "She just left."

"Just left," I repeat in a flat tone.

"Mmm hmm," he nods, shifting his gaze from eye to eye. The idea that she was here all along never crossed my mind. I begin to think laughably about my urgent and intense search for the teenager. 

"Where was she? You know, when you asked where she was," I ask, slouching a little, and resting my eyes on the cold concrete.

"Around," he says sort of distantly, "Well, she didn't tell me exactly, but a few minutes after you left she showed up. She was probably around the side of the house, if you ask me, but that's just a guess. She did seem a bit mad, and I know I walked in on some argument earlier, so… my bet is, she just didn't want to work on the assignment today, am I right?" he asks, running his hand through his actually slightly neat hair.

"Uh huh," I confirm in an almost broken voice. I've never felt so foolish for overreacting the way I did. Here all along? She couldn't have been, that's absurd. Wouldn't I have known? Oh, this is an awful feeling indeed…

"So, did you want to work or would you prefer to go home as well? I won't hold it against you, I mean, hell… you've had sort of an exciting day already," he says, sounding a little like he were making fun of my reaction earlier.

"Did she say anything?" I ask, quietly… somewhat embarrassed.

"Well," he says, a smile tugging at the corners of his thin lips-yep, he knew what I meant, "all she said was for you not to worry about her so much."

"She knows," I say, quietly.

"She knows," he repeats. For a second I question just what he thinks I mean. this sudden terror flows through me at the thought that she might know more than I think she does. She knows I love her, I grew up with her, but does she know I _love_ her? Which I do, I'm sure I do. I can reflect now on my behavior earlier and see clearly that my reaction was driven by some kind of passionate emotion. May it be anger, love, concern… it was perhaps a mixture of the three. I was foremost angry with her for abandoning me, but I was also concerned-was she alright?-and this love I have for her drove me to look desperately for her.

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The next morning I feel tired and unwilling to make myself get out of bed. This seems to be happening to me a lot lately. The embarrassment from the day before is still with me and the thought of seeing _her _today makes me literally sick to my stomach. What will the little devil say to me? She, I'm sure, will have some quick-witted sarcastic remark to throw at me. She will no doubt question me extensively about my behavior. To which, I know, I will have no good answer. But see, she won't be asking me because she cares, she'll be asking me because she likes to see me suffer under her gaze. She'll just eat up the expression of fear and embarrassment plastered all over my face. I, unfortunately, was not given the gift of being able to hide my emotions. I wear them clearly, and there's no mistake with how I'm feeling. She'll love it, I know she will. She'll look at me with a disgusted expression and just revel in the fact that I'm squirming and shifting my eyes before her. She'll make fun of me, she'll mock me, she'll tell everyone about the incident and make _them _make fun of me!

Or, I could be simply overreacting again…

"Hey, man," says Gerald as we wait for the bus, "Wow, you look like you just got hit by a bus, what's up?" he asks, concerned. He puts on a sympathetic expression, anticipating my answer.

"It's going to be a long day, Gerald," is all I can muster at the moment. 

Not satisfied with my statement, he goes on, "I see. So what's wrong?"

I search his brown eyes for something to say, something that will be adequate enough to get him off my back, while saving him the sorted details of my experience. It seems as though I've been keeping a lot of things from old Gerald lately, I wonder why that is…

"Hey," speaks a voice from behind me. Roxanne.

"Hey," Gerald says immediately, seeming as though he's forgotten all about my 'problem'. Oh yeah, I realize, _that's _why I've been different with him. The two exchange a kiss and begin to engage in small talk. I feel a bit left out, and find it too uncomfortable to be around the two of them. I must find somewhere else to go, I must-

"The bus!" someone shouts. People scramble to the edge of the sidewalk, trying to ensure they'll be the first to get on the warm bus. The reason? Well, for a while now, the weather has seemed to change drastically from one day to the next. One day it's sunny, the next rainy and cold. Today is just one of those rainy and cold days where you must force yourself out of bed-convince yourself that getting out of bed would be the best thing, when you know full-well that staying in bed would be the far better thing to do on a terrible day like this. 

The shivering bodies huddle together as the bus pulls up to them. The shoving begins and people are almost being thrown to the grown as everyone struggles to get in the bus as quickly as they can. I wait, though, until the others are on the bus before I attempt to do the same. I don't plan on being thrown into a puddle this early in the day. Just as the bus is pulling away I notice someone running to catch the departing vehicle. As I turn to see, I realize it's Helga, it's _her_. She's in a panic, waving her arms about trying to get the elderly bus driver's attention. I can imagine how miserable she's feeling at the moment, running down the slippery sidewalk, the weather in winter-like conditions-"STOP!" I shout, standing up abruptly from my bus seat, "Stop the bus, please," I say a bit more calmly. To my surprise, the bus driver slows to a stop. I guess even _he _could sympathize with the girl, and didn't want her to have to walk to school in such conditions. 

As Helga steps onto the bus, she searches for a seat. I think back to my feelings that morning-how I didn't want to see Helga today-but suddenly, now that I see her… I can't turn her away. And so, I offer my seat to her of course. 

"Why aren't you sitting with that guy?" she asks, knowing full-well what his name is.

"Because 'that guy' is sitting with 'that girl'," I reply, pointing behind me to Roxanne and Gerald. Helga shrugs and leans into her seat. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch her, carefully examining her features, wanting to say something but not knowing what. She sighs dramatically, and leans her head back, exposing the flesh of her neck. I suddenly take notice of her clothes. Not a skirt today, no, even Helga would never do something so foolish. Yes, I'm happy she opted for pants instead. Her shirt, although not pink, looks a little childish. Her sleeves are pulled down over her wrists and clasped tightly in her hands. She moves her head side to side, looking like a bored toddler, then finally seems satisfied staring toward me. She blinks a few times before she summons the air needed for her words, "You look terrible today," though obviously not intended to be, it sounds almost like an insult. Coming from her, I find, it hurts more than when Gerald had commented to me in almost the same way. She shifts her blue eyes from eye to eye as she stares at me as though she's got something on the tip of her tongue. 

"Yeah?" I start for her.

"I heard about yesterday," she starts. Oh, here it comes! She's going to mock me, I know it!

"What about it?" I try to ask in return as nonchalantly as possible.

"Nothing," she plays with the word, a smile distantly forming on her lips.   
"I was fine, you know, you didn't have to go looking for me, " she says, slouching to show even more of her long neck. Now, I realize, she looks even more like a dissatisfied 3-year-old. "The funny thing is, " she continues, "If you had stayed in my room I would have been there within five minutes and you would have met up with me. But, you left… so Bob tells me."

"Yeah, I guess that is funny," I comment, actually finding nothing amusing about her statement at all… instead, I find her movements amusing. The way she moves around in her seat, her head going side to side and her hands pulling self-consciously at the already pulled to the max sleeves of her white sweat shirt.

After a quiet moment, she looks at me again, "So are you going to Charlie's?" surprised that she would bring up the subject, I turn to look at her, "I mean, if you're going I'll go… but only if _you're _going, ok?" she stresses, sitting straight in her seat for the first time since she sat down.

"I'm going… I'm going, alright." I confirm and suddenly I can see-or rather feel-this immense relief flow through her. She sighs again and slouches against the bus seat.

"Thanks Football face," she says, and closes her eyes peacefully.

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Ok, I know, I KNOW! It's been a REALLY long time since I updated, but I have to explain. I've been really busy lately with school work and stuff like that. Oh yeah, and remember that research paper I had to do? I got a 100 on it, oh yes I did. Yay! Go me! Lol, ok anyway… here's chapter 18 (FINALLY) and this time I'll probably update A LOT sooner with the next chapter… I'm already writing it.


	19. Traces

I DO NOT OWN HEY ARNOLD!!! DON'T SUE ME!!! (I don't have any money anyway so you wouldn't get much out of it if you did) 

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Return To Innocence

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History class. Something I used to look forward to, but now… now things have changed. I look quietly at Mr. Reiker and observe him in his state of grading the papers from last week's quiz. Yeah, he came back. It seemed uneventful, really, one day he was gone, the next he was back. You would think that with all the noise people made about his sudden--and short--disappearance they would have been at least a little interested in where he _was_. But, oddly enough, absolutely no one came to him asking. No one. Even I, though I admit I knew where he was, didn't say anything to him. Perhaps I thought it was too early to say anything, considering the 'argument' he and I engaged in. That too hasn't been mentioned. I tear my eyes away from Reiker for a moment to look at Phoebe. She sits there, quietly, doing some assignment I know nothing about. Sometimes I look at her and wonder why she's so focused. She's like an old soul trapped in the awkward body of a 14-year-old. Too smart, and too worldly for her age, and sometimes for her own good. Sadly I didn't really keep that well in touch with the small girl. I'm not sure even now why that is, but it is. Part of me wants to blame Gerald for it, but I know somehow that's unfair. True, Gerald feels 'weird'--as he puts it--around the frail Asian girl, but… maybe Phoebe and I just weren't meant to be long-term friends. Ha ha, funny I should say that. I mean, look at Helga and I. Two people who were NEVER even meant to get along, and now we're almost as close as Gerald and I, although she would never want to admit that. To Helga, treating me the way she does must be like a game. She loves to play it, trying at every opportunity she has to make me feel miserable… but lately it's like whatever she says it doesn't matter. No, no, not in bad way, in an _incredibly _good way. She tries her insults, she tries to hurt me, but she can't. Her words, they don't have the same sting they once did.

"Arnold?" speaks a small voice, and I find that I have just been staring awkwardly at Phoebe while in thought. She looks strangely at me, tilting her head to the side and frowning just a little, "Are you feeling well?" she questions in her most innocent voice.

"Fine," I say shortly, turning quickly to shuffle the disorderly papers on my desk.

"You know, I've been thinking," she begins, scooting her desk a bit closer to mine, "You do seem to be acting… well, not like yourself, Arnold. Before you used to be--pardon my honesty--a good student, but lately you've been, well, different. Changed. Even Helga sees it." she stops to look quickly at Reiker's desk, "Are you sure nothing's bothering you?"

"Nothing," I lie. Again, I'm bothered by the phrase 'even Helga sees it'. Sees what? "I've just been really involved with this English project with Helga and-"

"Charles, yes, Helga's told me all about it." she finishes. Suddenly I'm frightened and can feel my hands grow clammy and cold. Does Phoebe really know _everything _about what's been going on at Charlie's? 

"What does Helga tell you?" I inquire, scooting my desk closer to her.

"Uh, well," she stutters, trying to find the right way to start, "She says that it's really a time-_consuming _project," she pauses, searching my face for something. I did notice the way she said consuming. Is she hinting at something? Yes, I admit that this IS a consuming thing. Ever since I decided to work on this project, it's like my whole life revolves around Helga and Charlie and his 'weird' family life. Or, perhaps, I'm merely imaging her emphasis on the word because my own mind is emphasizing it, "She also says that Charles is a really nice boy, he's quiet, but he's a nice kid." she pauses again as a distressing look forms on her face, "Lately though, she hasn't been wanting to go over. She won't tell me why--that's Helga for you--but you know, Arnold, I'm kind of concerned. It could be nothing, though, as Helga tends to be a dramatic person on occasion, but still… it seems _funny _to have such an extreme change in mood over the course of a few weeks. I bet you've noticed though," she says with a smile. After looking at me for a few quiet moments she starts again, "You know, Helga told me something the other day," she looks down, "though I probably should not be relaying this to you."

"What is it?" I ask, leaning closer to her.

A small smile forms on her lips, "She thinks Charles might be interested in her. Well, she didn't exactly tell me in so many words, but I felt she definitely hinted at it. Just the way she talks about him sometimes, it's like he really cares about her… the things he does for her. Anyway, I figured that since you were around them you could tell me once and for all if maybe there is something between the two."

"No, I don't think so," I answer quickly. 

"Are you sure?" she questions again, frowning a little.

"Absolutely."

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

"Is there something between you and Charlie?" I question Helga as we sit at the lunch table across from Gerald and Roxanne--which are too interested in each other to pay attention to our little conversation.

"No," she almost laughs, "Yeah, Charles Manson and me. Are you kidding?"

"Well, I just--never mind."

"Ok," she shrugs, picking at her cafeteria food with her mangled plastic fork, damaged slightly from Helga's persistent chewing on it. "Is there something between YOU and Charlie?" she questions me back with a playful smile.

"No, what?"

"See, that's how it felt when you asked me." she states raising her head--turning up her nose to me-- and looking down to me, "What a stupid question, huh?" she says, raising her eyebrows, signaling to me that the conversation--at least on that topic--was over.

"You know, Arnold, I'm a little tired of talking about Charlie," Roxanne cuts in with her overly feminine voice. "He's a moron and definitely NOT a good topic for discussion."

"Why is that?" I ask, folding my arms across my chest. How dare she say such a mean-spirited thing, considering what Charlie and she have gone through.

"Well," she shrugs, "he's just weird and I'm a little tried of talking about him, ok?" she eyes me. Clearly, she knows she has no reason for how she feels and she's just trying to cover it up. 

"Well, YOU'RE a little weird," Helga spits back, suddenly standing up from the table. "Eh, see you later," she says to me as she walks away. What was that about?

Of course, I wouldn't just let her stomp off like that, right? I get up and try somewhat to follow her. Suddenly, though, I realize that trying to talk to her when she's angry never works out. It would simply be a waste of my time, and I don't need to deal with that right now. But, already up and out of my seat, I decide to walk around a bit.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of Charlie himself, sitting alone at a nearby table. He doesn't seem to realize I'm there, or maybe he does and simply refuses to acknowledge my existence. Well, I'm not about to let him get away with that.

"Hey," I begin quickly, sitting myself down in front of him, uninvited.

"…Hi," he says in reply, almost stunned. He looks down to his food and shoves it away from him, "I'm not very hungry," he says, almost as an explanation for his actions and nothing more. He leans forward and stares mesmerized ahead of him.

"What are you looking at?" I question innocently, secretly dreading the thought that he might me staring that way at Helga. Yeah, so I'm a little paranoid. So what if what Phoebe said bothers me a little? Shouldn't it?

"You know, sometimes I think about her. Sometimes I wonder what things would be like if she and I were close like we were again." he pauses, thinking about his next string of words, "Ever since I talked to you about her I've been thinking. It's sad, really, but there's really nothing I can do."

I raise a hand in front of me, calling for a halt, "I'm going to have to stop you there. Who are we talking about?" 

…and so he laughs at me… 

His laughter, so sporadic in nature, almost sounds hallow and uneasy. I get this chill through me listening to his voice, it's so unlike him, so… someone else.

"Roxanne," he breaths, closing his eyes at the mention of her name.

"Why would you want to be close to someone so superficial, so snobby, so conceded-like?" I blurt before the subject of the conversation can fully register with me.

"Because," he says, "I care about her. Arnold, you can't judge someone based on what they're like on the outside. So what if someone _acts _a certain way?" he shrugs, "It says absolutely nothing about who they are on the inside. She's not like that, but she's always been like _that_."

"What do you mean? That doesn't make any sense."

"Yes it does. She's never been superficial, but she's always been like _that_. _Pretending _to be superficial. She likes to make people think she doesn't care about anything, but she does." he places his hands on the table in front of him. "That friend of yours seems to see it, why can't you?"

"I see that she's mean." I state, leaning in my chair. "Charlie, she's not the same person you think she is. She's heartless," should I tell him what she said about him? "She's mean-spirited, and rude. She really doesn't care about anything, or rather, _anyone_." I finish, shaking my head disappointedly.

"And _if _she's changed, could it be because of me?" he asks, genuinely--or so it seems--interested in my answer, not the least bit angry about my statement. 

"You?"

"…If she's a different person, if she's no longer the Roxanne I knew, there's only one reason she's like that. Ok, so it's not me, then who else could it be?" he asks, glaring at me. Without a pause for my answer, he stands up and walks away. Charlie's not stupid, he couldn't be. What he's hinting at is something I bet no one would have thought twice about.

"Charlie!" I exclaim, disregarding totally people's stares. 

He turns to look at me, an expression of confusion placed firmly on his face.

"What can I do?" I ask, "What is it that can fix this?"

He shrugs, "I don't know, what can?"

"Something, I know… _something _can." I say, animatedly moving my hands about.

In a spiteful tone I assume is unintended, he says, "Well, why don't you figure it out? You find a way to fix it, Arnold, you're good at that." Charlie then walks away, never once turning back to view the scene--the confused expressions on the onlookers' faces. Dead silence fills and room, and I find that the awkwardness is too much. I leave the cafeteria, deciding that maybe some alone-time would be good for me right now.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

An idea was born after my 'talk' with Charlie. Somehow, no matter my feelings on the subject of Helga and he, I had to make things better for him. Maybe not completely solve all his problems, but just enough so he's not so miserable. I have to do something… just… something…

And so I decide on a great plan--or so it seemed--for Charlie and Roxanne. I would ask Roxanne to come with me after school to Charlie's, assuming she didn't hate me enough to say no. Or, she could say no for _other _reasons. This is something I have to try, though, I do. I don't like Roxanne, but she can give Charlie something that no one else can: comfort. I think that somehow comfort is one thing Charlie longs for. How comforting can it be to live with a terrible father with questionable motives? And then his grandfather, Mr. Reiker? What kind of comfort does Charlie get knowing his family wants nothing to do with him. Excuse me, they want nothing to do with Charlie's father, but still… in avoiding the father they're also avoiding Charlie… 

…someone in need of care… 

…someone in need of love… and maybe, just maybe, Roxanne can provide the kind of love he's looking for. At least, I hope she can.

"Roxanne!" I yell as the last bell of the day rings. She stops in the hall in front of me, looking very confused as to why I would be talking to her. She frowns and folds her arms.

"What?" she spits rather rudely. She stands impatiently in front of me, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

"Can I talk to you?"

"I'm late for the bus." she says flatly, obviously a no.

"Well, in case you've forgotten, I ride that same bus so technically we're both late. Can I walk you home instead?" I plead, anything to give us some time alone.

"Why?" she asks, suspicion clearly in her voice, "Why would you want to walk me home?"

"Oh, come on. I don't have any ulterior motives here, I just want to talk." I reply, rolling my eyes and shoving my hands into my pockets. "There's something important I need to discuss with you."

"Can't you tell me now?" she asks, raising her eyebrows in an attempt to intimidate me.

"No," I'm beginning to become impatient as well with her, "We need to talk alone." I stare almost angrily at her as she displays an expression of utter boredom. She looks around the hall, watching as all the other students rush and bump their way around her. Maybe she knows it's about Charlie, after all we were talking about him only hours before, and she also saw me conversing with him. She looks down for a second, fiddling uncomfortably with her hands.

"Is it really that important?" she asks one last time, searching my eyes for a way out of this situation I've created for her, "I mean, is it _really _necessary that I go with you?"

"Absolutely."

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

See, I didn't take TOO long to get this next chapter out. Heh, anyway, I hope you enjoy it ;D


	20. Second Chapter

I DO NOT OWN HEY ARNOLD!!! DON'T SUE ME!!! (I don't have any money anyway so you wouldn't get much out of it if you did) 

****

Return To Innocence

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

"Can you just explain to me why we're going to… where ever it is we're going--where are we going?" asks Roxanne irritably with just a hint of confusion, "And, tell me, why would I even want to go there-"

"It's not about what you want," I say, cutting her off sharply in aggravation.

"So what is it about? Who wants this?" she goes on, not caring in the least how whiny and selfish she sounds. She and I walk side by side to Charlie's house, trying desperately--at least on my end--to get along for this short amount of time. See, I realized that in this situation it really shouldn't matter how I feel about her; it shouldn't matter at all if I feel she's a terrible person; it really just shouldn't matter if I think she's not worthy of someone like Charlie--someone so intelligent but just too quiet for his own good. Now, you're confused, right? You think I should be angry or jealous of him, right? You think that because of what Phoebe said I should be worried he's got a thing for Helga, right? But… somehow I just can't stop being me. I know that sounds silly, maybe down-right ridiculous, but I think it might be too cruel to just let him be lonely… always wondering what it would have been like if he'd taken a different path in life. So what am I doing? It's like I'm single-handedly trying to turn back time; trying to erase whatever time has passed between these two individuals. Can I? Can they just start where they left off, or is it simply not that easy? Sadly, this dream I have is naïve. What's worse is I realize it completely, yet I strive to make it happen.

"I want this," I reply. I look to her and notice her rolling her eyes in an obvious manner. She chews recklessly at her bubblegum, periodically blowing a loud bubble. I keep reminding myself that I'm doing this for Charlie, but now that I'm here, now that I'm standing next to this girl, I'm finding it hard to believe that this is the same person Charlie speaks of so lovingly. Maybe Roxanne's just changed, maybe she hasn't always been like this. Sometimes I think about what Roxanne must have been like as a kid. I try to imagine this girl that Charlie speaks of so distantly. What if she were a completely different person? I see this little girl--my vision of her as a child--playing hop-scotch and hide and go seek with little Charlie Reiker. I see her as a little freckle-faced youngster making mud pies and wearing overalls, chasing Charlie around park, scraping her knees and making grass stains on her new clothes. Could she have been like that? So what is it that turned her into a prissy, snobby, whiny, _irritating _young woman?

"So you don't call that selfish?" she states, looking at me slightly through the corner of her eye.

"What?"

"You say it's not about what I want, right?" she pauses, slowing her pace as we approach Charlie's home, "So it's about what _you _want? If you ask me, you're acting just as selfishly as I am, Arnold." she stops.

"Believe me, _sweetie_," I use the word distastefully, "it's not about what either of us wants." she seems to not have heard me as she stares in awe at her surroundings. She turns a few times in a circle, admiring everything from the dirty defaced building--Charlie's home--to the trash-ridden sidewalk before her. She recognizes her environment, I can feel it. But, this recognition I feel from her is not one of happiness, but one of dread.

As if feeling my eyes on her, she turns abruptly to face me, anger in her expression; sadness in her eyes. I realize then that it's the same look I remember getting from Helga when I wanted to take her to Charlie's against her will. "You want to explain to me _now _why we're here?" she places her hands firmly on her hips.

"Where's here?" I ask coolly, watching as she grows slightly paler yet slightly flushed with anger.

"You know… _here_," she gestures frantically with her hands towards Charlie's broken home, "You know where!" she cries, backing away from me. "I never agreed to this--you never told me where we were going!" she points to me discriminately, angrily, heartbrokenly.

"I would have, I just-" I try to explain, but my reasoning falls on deaf ears. She continues to back away from me as I try to get closer to her, as I try to calm her down.

"You know, I don't know why I even trusted you! Why?! I just let you lead me wherever you decided to go? What for?!" she screams, clenching her small hands into tiny fists.

"You need to calm down, you're over reacting!" I almost shout. I take a step to her but she violently yanks herself farther away from me.

"No, NO!" she says holding up her hands in a defensive manner.

"What do you mean, no?" I ask, somewhat confused. She looks down to gather her breath for a moment.

"I _mean _NO, get away from me." she says heatedly, folding her arms in a slight attempt to intimidate me again; ha, there's only one person who could intimidate me that easily, and even she has lost that _strength _over me.

"Why? Just what is it you think I'm going to do?" I ask almost in an incredulous tone.

"Well I," she pauses, "You just… _need _to step away from me right now. You're too close." she says, raising her eyebrows and tilting her head up. Now, as simply as she said the words, 'you're too close,' and as simple as their surface meaning must be, I know they're hinting at something else. I guess it's just me again, trying to find meaning where there is none; trying to make things more complicated and complex than they need to be. 

"I'm too close?" I repeat, mimicking her by folding my arms just as she.

"You're too close," she answers, yet her statement seems to hold a different meaning. Perhaps the tone she repeated it in is to blame. Or, maybe I'm right. Maybe there is some underlying meaning to those words.

For a brief second--that feels like a lifetime of silence--we stare at one another. Everything seems to fall quiet around us as we watch intently the other's expression--waiting for the other person to back down. She looks at me, searching my face--my eyes--for something. 

An answer to the earlier question perhaps of 'why are we here'.

"Arnold?" I hear as a distant echo. Did I really hear that? I'm too immersed in this staring game to identify the voice, or even look for its source. "Arnold." it repeats, and I see a flicker of recognition on Roxanne's intended stoic face. Her lips part. Her eyes struggle to keep from looking in the direction of the voice. Her heart rate obviously is rising. In her expression is a look of pain, heart ache, and… 

comfort. Yes, comfort somehow at the recognition that it's Charlie Reiker.

As I realize Roxanne's torment, I quickly snap out of my stare and look towards Charlie standing on his stoop. 

"Arnold?" He repeats one last time. He looks confused from me to Roxanne and finally settles on me with a look of betrayal. "What _is _this?" he asks in an aggravated and hurt tone I'd only heard him use with his father. At this moment, Helga walks out of Charlie's house, looking just as confused as Charlie himself. She looks, as he did, from me to Roxanne. When Helga settles her gaze on me, though, her expression is not one of betrayal, but one of utter confusion. She perks an eyebrow at me, then scoffs and walks back into the house. 

As I look to Charlie and Roxanne, I can see the same look in both their eyes. As they turn to face one another for the first time I see something else there as well…

__

Irritation.

__

Aggravation. 

And _hurt_. 

But this irritation, aggravation, and hurt I see in their eyes is not from my actions… but from their _own_.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Here's chapter 20--I can't believe this story is 20 chapters long. When I first started out on this piece of fan fiction (my first actually) I never thought it would be this long at all. Maybe 20 chapters isn't long for some of you, but for me, someone who _never _finishes anything of what she starts, it's long as hell. Anyway, I hope you enjoy ;D


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